The Other Holmes: Series Two
by HexingHayley
Summary: Pick up where Trio left off! A psycho of a brother. A woman who may or may not have the hots for her uncle. A mutant dog running around on the Moors. The most heart-shattering event in her life to date. Scarlett Holmes thought she had it bad before, how will she cope with this new set of crazy adventures? 'Series Two Rewrite' contains all episodes and a self written mini episode.
1. A Scandal in Belgravia: Part One

A Scandal in Belgravia: Part One

_Don't let me go with him!_

_You're not going anywhere._

"You can't be allowed to continue, boys." Moriarty continued, "You just can't. I would try to convince you but..." He laughed and his voice became sing-song once again. "...everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock looked down at her and John again for another second; seriously thinking about what he was about to do before he turned to face Moriarty, "Probably my answer has crossed yours."

He raised the pistol and aims it at him. Moriarty smiled confidently, no fear in his expression. Slowly Sherlock lowered the pistol downwards until it was pointing directly at the bomb jacket. All their eyes lock onto the jacket, John breathing heavily, Scarlett smiling ready for anything that wasn't going with Moriarty, Sherlock calm. Moriarty tilted his head, looking a little anxious for the first time.

Sherlock held his hand steady, continuing to aim towards the jacket. Moriarty lifted his head and locks eyes with his Sherlock. She was sure he saw her uncle as his nemesis. Sherlock gazed back at him and causing Moriarty to smile and for Sherlock to narrow his eyes. Scarlett closed hers.

* * *

><p>There was nothing except the sound of the moving water in the pool and everybody's breathing as they waited for the next move to be made, Scarlett refused to open her eyes. Then out of nowhere The Bee Gees' song 'Stayin' Alive' began to tinnily play.<p>

Her eyes shot open and she looked at Sherlock and John in confusion before her eyes rested distastefully on Moriarty who briefly closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

"D'you mind if I get that?" His smooth Irish accent called out to the three of them.

Scarlett watched Sherlock as he pulled a face and shrugged his shoulder before saying nonchalantly, "No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life."

He took the phone from his pocket and she finally found the strength to stand, "Hello...? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" Moriarty asked irritably down into the phone.

He looked at them mouthing 'Sorry' across at Sherlock, who sarcastically mouthed 'Oh, it's fine' back at him. Moriarty rolled his eyes as he listened to the phone, turning away from them for a moment, then he spun back around, his face full of fury.

"SAY THAT AGAIN!" He yelled angrily into the phone.

Scarlett frowned and looked around before Moriarty continued with venom in his voice, "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you… and I will skin you."

Scarlett, Sherlock and John all just looked at each other bewildered, "Wait." Moriarty told the other person on the end of the phone.

He lowered it and made his way back over to them, Sherlock keeping the pistol trained on the bomb jacket.

Moriarty stopped right in front of the jacket gazing down at the ground thoughtfully before lifting his eyes to Sherlock. "Sorry." He said somewhat distractedly, "Wrong day to die."

"Oh." Scarlett made herself sound causal, "Did you get a better offer?"

Moriarty looked down at the phone before he turned and slowly began to walk away, "You'll be hearing from me Sherlock et al."

He strolled back around the pool towards the door through which he originally came, lifting the phone to his ear again. "So," he said into the phone, "if you have what you say you have, I'll make you rich. If you don't," He paused, "I'll make you into shoes." He clicked his fingers the once and the red sniper dots on them all instantly retracted.

They all let out relived sighs, "What happened there?" John asked of no one in particular.

"Someone changed his mind." Sherlock said.

"The question is: who?" Scarlett asked looking at Sherlock.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

Scarlett Holmes was now officially eighteen and the only thing that had changed was that she could go out drinking legally, not that she wanted to. The birthday was marked by indifference until later in the evening, there was a knock at the door and it turned out that John had invited everyone around to celebrate.

She shook her head as they all swapped stories about her; Sherlock was being unusually human about it all and playing along. She cringed at some of them, like when Lestrade told them all about when they had first met and how awkward the fourteen-year-old version of herself was. The rest of the night was a pleasant one that she enjoyed immensely.

Late April rolled into late May and on this particular day John was in the living room updating his ever increasing blog. Scarlett had her violin out and was attempting to write down whatever she played, whilst Sherlock was sat at the opposite end of the living room table drinking coffee and leafing through the newspaper.

"What are you typing?" He asked in way of conversation.

"Blog." John replied focusing on the screen.

"About?"

"Us." Scarlett summarized looking over John's shoulder to read a few lines. "Well, you're typing a lot."

"There's a lot to say about you two." He said smiling, looking over his shoulder at her. The doorbell rang.

"Oh good. I was getting bored." Scarlett grinned leaping over the settee to greet the client.

-Flash Forward-

Over the weeks preceding they had what see liked to call a montage of clients. Most of them domestic and not warranting their attention although every now and again there was the odd golden case she adored.

They had dealt with a man whose wife was having an affair, the day before a wife who was being cheated on. Scarlett briefly thought about calling them both to get the two to meet up.

-Flash Forward-

Then there was the man that came to the flat carrying an urn of all things. He sat on the clients chair and stroked the jar lovingly; she shot John a look of disquiet which he returned with wide eyes.

"She's not my real aunt. She's been replaced – I know she has. I know human ash." The client told them with a knowing gaze.

Scarlett did a double take: _How in the hell?!_

Sherlock seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he pointed to the door abruptly, "Leave."

-Flash Forward-

They had a business man and his body guards come in and asked them if they would recover a load of important files that had been taken, with the price tag being at Sherlock's discretion. Although he had declared the case as boring to the horror of the business man and kicked him out soon after.

-Flash Forward-

Then came one of the rare golden cases which she was intrigued by, when the group of geeky teenage boys came in she instantly grinned and sat forward in her seat, sensing a real belter. With one look at her Sherlock got up and offered her his chair, she smiled knowing that he was giving her the case.

John started to type up the change of events as she asked the guy in the middle of the three, "What can I do for you boys today?"

After a stunned pause due to the fact that they were in fact being talked to by a girl, the one in the middle got the courage to speak,

"We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books, 'cause people miss a lot of the themes."

"Right?" She said tilting her head and squinting slightly.

"But then the thing is everything in them started coming true!" He rushed on and she grinned, leaning back in her chair.

"Oh," She mused, "Interesting…"

About a week later Scarlett walked into the living room to find John typing. She glanced over his shoulder and saw the title of the blog entry, "'The Geek Interpreter'?" She asked.

"Yeah," John said looking over his shoulder at her, "It's the title."

"You're the blogger, I'll leave the dramatization to you I guess."

They smiled at each other and she made her way back into the kitchen to her latest experiment.

-Flash Forward-

Scarlett found the John was blogging about their cases more and more. She loved the fact that when she visited the website that she had her own section for her cases independent of Sherlock.

Not long after she'd solved 'The Geek Interpreter' she found herself at Bart's morgue with her fellow Baker Street residents looking at a blonde woman on a slab covered in speckled blotches.

She vaguely registered Lestrade stood in the background waiting for anything they could give him, "Do people actually read your blog?" She looked at Sherlock as he addressed John as he still examined the body.

"Where d'you think our clients come from?" John retorted in question.

"We have a website." Sherlock defended.

"In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody's reading your website." John summarised and Scarlett found herself smirking at the adorable pout Sherlock was giving them.

"Right then." She said after a second drawing their attention back to the matter at hand. "Dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they… Sherlock…!"

She called to her uncle as he turned and then began to exit then room, "Come back here!" She called after him.

As the doors to the morgue swung on their hinges she heard him reply in childish defiance, "NO!"

When she got back to the flat she found Sherlock walking around eating a piece of toast. John went straight over to his computer and started to type. She was in the process of removing her jacket when she heard Sherlock say – with his mouth full – "Oh, for God's sakes!"

"What?" She and John both asked.

He shot her an exasperated look before reading off of John's screen, "'The Speckled Blonde'?!"

-Flash Forward-

Then there was the time not long after that where two little girls had arrived, unaccompanied, to Baker Street. She was rather grateful that she had been the one to greet them at the door and not Sherlock.

She had invited then in, she took a couple of dining room chairs and placed them next to each other so the girls could sit side-by-side. It was at this point that the boys entered the living room to greet the new client's.

After about fifteen minutes – during which the girls had expressed their journey to the flat – they finally got down to the reason for their visit.

"They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that 'cause he'd gone to heaven?" The younger of the two girls asked.

Scarlett looked at John wide-eyed, worried that Sherlock wouldn't think about who he was talking to before he answered the question. "People don't really go to heaven when they die. They're taken to a special room and burned."

Scarlett looked at him with an open mouth, completely horrified, "Sherlock!" When she looked back the two girl's looked like they were about to cry.

-Flash Forward-

They walked across the open gravely expanse following Lestrade towards a silver car, "There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday." He said, "Everyone dead."

"Yes, we know." Sherlock said, "Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news."

Scarlett shook her head in amusement as John countered, "You said, "Boring," and turned over."

She could see that the boot of the car they were heading to was open, they looked around as Lestrade kept talking.

"Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board." She looked over his shoulder to see that he was checking the man's ticket details, contained in an evidence bag. "Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here's his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead he's in a car boot in Southwark."

She and John stood back allowing Sherlock to look at the body. He got out his magnifier and focused in on the dead man's hands.

"Any ideas?" John asked.

"Eight, so far." Sherlock muttered.

She nodded, knowing eight ideas would significantly decrease any moment. Sure enough he stood up straight, looking at the body again to verify before saying, "Okay, four idea's."

He looked over to the man's passport that Lestrade was holding in an evidence bag. He then paused and looked up at the sky. "Maybe two ideas." He concluded as a passenger jet flew overhead.

-Flash Forward-

Back at the flat, Sherlock – wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses, carrying a blowtorch in one hand and a glass container of green liquid in the other – had come over to the living room table to look at John's latest blog entry which was entitled: "Sherlock Holmes Baffled".

"No, no, no, don't mention the unsolved ones." She heard Sherlock protest indignantly.

Scarlett tried to calm him down, "People want to know you're human."

He looked over to her as she held one of his case files, "Why?"

"'Cause they're interested." John replied.

"No they're not." Sherlock denied. "Why are they?" He asked after a second.

Scarlett just shrugged as John smiled at his laptop. "Look at that." He said to them and she walked over as he pointed to his laptop screen. "One thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five." He said proudly.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked as she spotted what John meant - his blog counter.

"I re-set that counter last night." John told them, "This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash."

"Two hundred and forty-three." Scarlett corrected him quietly as Sherlock went sulking back into the kitchen.

"Do you want a hand?" Scarlett offered to him and Sherlock nodded silently before firing up his blowtorch once more. He made sure to pull his safety glasses back on over his eyes dramatically as she joined him.

-Flash Forward-

The three of them walked across the theatre floor quickly towards one of the exits. Police continued to work around them somewhat expertly.

"So, what's this one? 'Belly Button Murders'?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"'The Navel Treatment'?" John offered.

She laughed, "Oh, John. You're so punny!"

"Eurgh!" Sherlock exclaimed audibly as she and John giggled.

Lestrade joined them as they neared the exit. "There's a lot of press outside, guys." The D.I. warned.

"Well, they won't be interested in us." Sherlock assured.

"Yeah," Lestrade said, "that was before you were an internet phenomenon. A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you two." He pointed between her and Sherlock.

Her eyes widened: She did NOT want her picture taken.

"For God's sake!" Sherlock cried looking over her head to John. They walked passed an open door, in the room was a costume rack. Sherlock rushed in, picked some items from the rack and said, "Here, put these on the both of you."

He tossed John a cap and her a berett. She put it on hastily and pulled it right over so it covered a good majority of her face.

"Walk fast, the both of you." Sherlock told them.

"Still," said Lestrade, "it's good for the public image, a big case like this."

"I'm a private detective." Sherlock retorted. "The last thing I need is a public image."

He put on the other hat that he had picked up – a deerstalker – and headed out the exit door pulling the hat as low as possible over his eyes and tugging the collar of his coat up. Outside, photographers start taking pictures of the three of them, calling their names frantically.

-Flash Forward-

The next day Scarlett ran home to the apartment, plastic bag in one hand and several papers in the other.

She dashed up the stairs and through the open apartment door, barley missing Miles who was trudging along the flat's floor.

"Sherlock, John!" She exclaimed as she tossed the shopping to one side.

They looked at her in surprise, Sherlock draped in a bed sheet, "What's wrong?" John asked her.

"Have you seen these?!" She cried brandishing the papers she had picked up. "We're on the front pages!"

She tossed one each to them, the one Sherlock held read: 'The New Hat-family: Web Detectives.' Whilst John's read: 'The Holmes' Duo: Internet Sensation!'

"We're EVERYWHERE!" She cried. "I don't like this. We're meant to be PRIVATE -"

"-Consulting..." Sherlock corrected readjusting his sheet.

"Oh, whatever!" She snapped. "My point is: you aren't private anymore." She said, calming down.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What's the matter?" He asked.

"What's the matter?" She sighed through her nose. "This is 'what's the matter.'" She waved a hand towards the papers. "Sherlock, it's only going to get worse. They'll turn on you. That's the way it always happens."

"What are you doing?" John asked her as she got her phone out.

"Thinking about attempting damage control." She replied shortly as she went to hit speed dial before picking up one of the papers and throwing it out of the open window in annoyance.

She caught Sherlock and John stare at each other and then back at her. Sherlock stood and gestured for the phone, she shook her head. Sherlock advanced, determined in his goal.

"No, Sherlock, get off me!" She cried, for Sherlock was attempting to remove her phone from her hand.

"We don't need him." Her younger uncle insisted as her thumb hovered over the button she had assigned to Mycroft's number.

When she still didn't hand over the phone Sherlock said:

"Give it to me or the tortoise gets it."

"Are you blackmailing Miles?" She asked in a surprised tone.

Sherlock was keeping a keen eye on her as the phone remained in her hand, "Basically."

She looked over at John who had been following their conversation with an amused look on his face.

"You can't do that, Sherlock. Miles is an innocent victim of your and Mycroft's politics."

"Yes, and you clearly picked my side of the debate a long time ago." Sherlock retorted. "Give. Me. The. Phone."

"Sherlock, I seriously think that's deemed as possessive behaviour." John said to him.

"I don't care, it's true. She's mine." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

They were interrupted by Mrs Hudson knocking on the flats door. Scarlett thought she looked rather stressed.

"Oh good, you're in. You've got another one." The landlady stepped aside to reveal a big man who was panting heavily in the doorway before he promptly collapsed over the thresh hold.

"Well... I wasn't expecting that." John exclaimed.

-Break Line- Break Line -Break Line-

About three hours later Scarlett found herself in Lestrade's office giving him back a cold case she'd been looking into. She'd given him three new leads although she had made it clear that she was positive that the sister had murdered her twin for the money.

"Here you go." Lestrade said coming back into his office and placing a coffee cup on the mini desk she was using.

"Mmm... Thanks, Greg."

"You're welcome." The D.I walked around to the right side of his desk and sat down. "Sherlock should be there by now, I'll give Carter a bell."

"Sherlock didn't go, he made John go instead. It was less than a seven apparently." She finished, looked at Lestrade's confused face and added, "Don't ask."

The detective lent back in his seat and said, "Alright, I won't."

There was a pause in which they heard the phones going off on the floor outside.

"What is it?" She said looking at the man opposite her.

"I didn't say anything." The man chuckled.

"No, but you were thinking. What is it?" She asked again.

"I was just trying to imagine you -"

"No need to imagine, I'm here, Greg."

He tutted, "Let me finish. I was just trying to imagine you working out there." He made a gesture to the floor outside.

"If you'd like me to move that's not a problem I'll just..."

"You don't make things half difficult." He sighed, "I meant, work on the floor because you might consider...working for me."

"Work for you...?" She repeated slowly.

"Yes..." He confirmed, his face screwed up as though he was about ready to be hit. "Just something to think about, now you're eighteen. And who knows, maybe in a few years you could become a-"

"-Detective Inspector." She finished with a triumphant smirk.

Lestrade sat up a little straighter with a smile on his face, as she herself grinned. She envisioned herself giving orders to Donovan, Anderson and other annoying co-workers.

Then she gasped and with a little shake, came back to reality. "I appreciate the offer Lestrade just let me-" Scarlett was about to say 'Think about it' when an abrupt knock sounded on the office door.

Donovan entered holding a phone, "It's for you, mini fr-" Scarlett was surprised to hear Donovan stop herself, "It's for you." She said again, holding the phone out for Scarlett to grab.

She nodded her thanks and took the phone, "Hello?" She asked into the receiver.

"There's a man in a black suit waiting outside Scotland Yard for you. Don't ask questions, just do as you're told."

She sighed at Mycroft's cryptic message and hung up the phone, "I have to go, thanks for the coffee." She said to Lestrade as she picked up the takeaway cup and walked passed Donovan to get out of the office, leaving the phone on Lestrade's desk.

"Think about my offer?" Lestrade called after her.

She turned back, "I might!"

She had no idea what she'd do in this type of job. Much of the same stuff that she already did at a crime scene probably. Just with more paper work. And legal restrictions.

Eww.

She'd have to do as the 'law' told her! Yet, there was something about the idea of becoming a DI that appealed to her. Greatly.

When she finally made it outside she was greeted with a, "Miss Holmes..."

She looked in the direction of the voice and beheld a young man, not much older than herself. On observing him she found that he was unarmed. His suit cost about six-hundred pounds. That he was left handed judging by the way his hands were folded in front of him. He was an indoor office worker judging by the state of his shoes and the creases in his forehead. The most prominent features were the tiny, wiry hairs that lined his lower legs.

"...If you'd care to get in the car."

She sighed noncommittally, "I guess I don't have anything better to do."

He nodded and led her to the car. The drive was a quiet one and pretty soon she was being led through the corridors of Buckingham Palace. "Through there, Miss." The young worker told her, gesturing into an office.

She walked inside and was faced with Mycroft.

"Morning." They said to each other in unison.

"What's up?" She asked him.

He didn't answer her question he just said, "Follow me."

She sighed but did as she was told and followed him out of the room quickly as they walked down a heavily carpeted corridor.

He lead her into a side room through a door only to find said too conjoined directly with another - bigger - room.

From this room she could hear voices, distinctly Sherlock and John's.

"Here to see the Queen?" She heard John ask as she walked into the room at that moment.

"Close enough." She replied as she saw the boy's sat on an expensive looking couch.

She did a slight double take as she registered that Sherlock was still in his sheet. "You're not wearing pants are you?" She asked.

"No." Sherlock replied simply.

She sighed, "Of course..."

"Where did you go this morning?" Sherlock asked.

Scarlett sighed, "I was with Lestrade if you must know."

"And he offered her a job." Mycroft spoke as he entered the room.

She let out an exasperated noise as she rubbed her eyes, head tilted to the ceiling.

"Can I please do something without one of you finding out for once...?"

"That is highly unlikely, my dear." Mycroft said wearing a smug smile before he took one look at Sherlock in his sheet and too sighed, "Just once, can you all behave like grown-ups?"

Scarlett walked over to the sofa that her boys occupied and perched on the arm of the seat, next to John.

The doctor chuckled slightly before saying, "We solve crimes, I blog about it, he forgets his pants and she enjoys it immensely, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope."

Sherlock looked up at his brother as he walked further into the room, all humour gone from his face.

"I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft." Sherlock protested.

"What, the hiker and the backfire?" Mycroft asked, "I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?"

"Transparent." Sherlock relented.

"Was it?" Scarlett asked. She had left them to deal with the case, feeling her time was better spent dealing with cases from Lestrade.

"Apparently, yeah." John said, clearly in startled disagreement.

"Time to move on, then." Mycroft said, clearing his throat.

Mycroft made a show of bending down, picking up the clothes and shoes from the table before offering them to Sherlock. Sherlock for his part looked thoroughly uninterested making Mycroft sigh again.

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation." Mycroft's voice then became stern when Sherlock failed to respond. "Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."

She had to stifle a laugh as Sherlock shrugged and said, "What for?"

"Your client." The elder brother replied simply.

"And my client is?" Sherlock asked, standing up.

"Illustrious..." They all turned to see an equerry walk into the open room, "...in the extreme."

Almost instantly John and she stood up out of respect as the man came closer, "And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous."

It was at this point the new man turned and addressed Mycroft happily, "Mycroft!"

"Harry." Mycroft replied in equal politeness, if with less vigour as he shook hands with his colleague.

"May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?" Mycroft asked in a way of pardon.

Harry the Equerry brushed it off, "Full-time occupation, I imagine."

Sherlock scowled and Scarlett coughed slightly to stifle a small laugh that had escaped her due to Sherlock's expression.

Harry must have caught it however because he looked right at her and said, "Ah, finally, Miss Holmes. Mycroft's told me all about you!"

They shook hands and she laughed politely, "Please, don't believe a word he says."

He smiled good naturally, "Quite." He then turned to address John.

"And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello, yes." John replied and they too shook hands.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog." Harry revealed to the doctor and John looked startled.

"Your employer?"

The other man nodded, "They particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch."

"Thank you!" The doctor exclaim and Scarlett caught him turning to Sherlock to pointedly clear his throat with an air of smugness.

Finally the equerry walked closer to Sherlock before saying, "And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs."

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend." Sherlock replied with disinterest.

"Mycroft," Sherlock began to say as he forced himself between John and herself to gain better access to his older brother. "I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work." He looked back around to the equerry, "Good morning."

With that he started to walk out of the room. Mycroft prevented him from getting to far however by steeping on his sheet. Sherlock in his impetus - and to her horror - continued on forward so the sheet was practically pulled from him, only now covering bellow his waist. He attempted to pull it back up his body to no avail and also to his clear frustration.

"This is a matter of national importance." Mycroft hissed dangerously whilst Scarlett herself part way covered her eyes slightly. "Grow up." The elder brother demanded.

With his back still turned to them all Sherlock spoke through gritted teeth. "Get off my sheet!"

"Or what?" Mycroft mocked.

"Or I'll just walk away." Sherlock said simply.

_Oh, no... Don't you DARE!_

Scarlett deliberately turned her back on the scene whilst she heard Mycroft say, "I'll let you."

John jumped in the "Boys, please. Not here."

Sherlock was almost incandescent with rage as be gritted out, "Who. Is. My. Client?"

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction." Mycroft said calmly, "You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake..." He paused and Scarlett braved a look, noticing he was attempting to get his anger under control.

Mycroft breathed through his nose heavily before he continued in an exasperated tone, yet harsh tone. "...put your clothes on!"

Sometime later, Sherlock - thankfully - has finally dressed and is sitting on the sofa again beside John. Mycroft and the equerry sit on the opposite sofa, whilst she herself sat back on the arm of the sofa next to John.

Mycroft started pouring tea from a teapot. Following the old-fashioned superstition, he looked at the equerry and smiled, "I'll be mother."

Sherlock took the opportunity to declare, "And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell." Scarlett found herself biting her cheeks in an attempt not to laugh. Mycroft glared at the both of them before placing the teapot down.

The equerry looked at Sherlock then, keen to move on. "My employer has a problem."

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen." Mycroft said.

"Why?" Sherlock demanded, "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr. Holmes?" The equerry asked.

"Not, to date, anyone with a Navy." Sherlock replied and Scarlett shared a smirk with John.

"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust." Mycroft said, ignoring the previous comment.

"You don't trust your own Secret Service?" John asked.

"Why would they?" Scarlett said before anyone else could reply, "They all spy on people for money."

The men all looked at her and she shrugged, "Stop me when I tell a lie."

"No," The Equerry replied, "No, you're quite right, Miss Holmes."

It was then Mycroft opened his briefcase resting on the table between them all. He took out a glossy photograph and handed it to Sherlock who looked at the photo. She saw the woman being depicted and got up to stand by the opposite arm of the sofa next to Sherlock.

"What do you know about this woman?" Mycroft asked.

"Nothing whatsoever." Sherlock replied.

"Then you should be paying more attention. She's-"

"That's Irene Adler." Scarlett said without thinking. She looked up at Mycroft, away from the image, "What's she done now?"

"I'm more interested in how _you_ know who she is." Mycroft asked her, confused.

"A strong female individual causing chaos and unrest for the Government? Of course I'm paying attention Mycroft. It's entertaining."

Mycroft sighed, "Of course..."

Scarlett looked at Sherlock and John, "As far as I know Irene's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year. Not to mention she recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both the husband and wife...separately."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia, Scarlett." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"How can one person cause such a drama?" John asked the room.

"Irene Adler is professionally known as 'The Woman'." Scarlett replied idly.

"Professionally?" John repeated.

"There are many names for what she does." Mycroft said, taking over from her. "She prefers 'dominatrix'."

Sherlock repeated the last word thoughtfully, "Dominatrix..."

"Don't be alarmed." Mycroft replied, "It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me." Sherlock replied a little too sharply. Scarlett had to fight the urge to visibly face palm.

Mycroft smiled snidely at him before saying, "How would you know?"

"Ah!" Scarlett exclaimed loudly and actual covered her face with her hands, "Will you both pack it in!"

Mycroft continued as Sherlock stared at him. "She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it."

At this point he took more photos out of his briefcase and handed them over to the pair of them. "These are all from her website."

Sherlock took the photographs and leafed through them. They were professional-looking publicity shots for her 'services', showing Adler in various - she assumed - stimulating positions'.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs." Sherlock said as he kept flicking through the images.

The equerry looked almost startled, "You're very quick, Mr. Holmes."

"Hardly a difficult deduction." Sherlock replied, sounding almost bored. "Photographs of whom?"

The equerry hesitated and then said slowly, "A... person of significance to my employer... We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

Glaring at him angrily, Sherlock put the photographs down on the table, no longer needing them.

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked.

"I can tell you it's a young person." Mycroft said after much deliberation.

John drunk from his teacup as Mycroft continued, "A young female person."

John's eyes widened whilst she and Sherlock shared a smirk.

"How many photographs?" Scarlett found herself asking.

"A considerable number, apparently." Mycroft said looking at her.

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock asked. Scarlett rather thought that that was obvious and was pretty sure that Sherlock had just said this to rub salt into various pride stricken wounds belonging to the two men.

"Yes, they do." Mycroft said curtly.

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios." Sherlock continued.

_Yes, he was definitely trying to make them feel guilty about the situation._

"An imaginative range, we are assured." Mycroft conceited.

Just on a whim she looked in John's direction to find him staring blankly at Mycroft with his teacup still half raised. "John," she called, wishing to grab his attention, "you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now."

John quickly did as she advised as the equerry asked Sherlock, "Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?"

"How?"

"Will you take the case?" The equerry clarified.

"What case?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, "Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'Know when you are beaten'."

He turned and reached for his overcoat which was draped across the back of the sofa.

"She doesn't want anything." Mycroft revealed.

Sherlock turned back towards him as Scarlett's other uncle continued, "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour."

For the first time since the conversation started Sherlock finally sounded interested. "Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock..." John said in a warning tone.

"Hmm." Sherlock replied mindlessly.

He turned around and reached for his coat again before asking, "Where is she?"

Mycroft answered quickly, "Uh, in London currently. She's staying..."

Not waiting for him to finish, Sherlock picked up his coat, stood and started to walk away.

"Text me the details." Sherlock interrupted. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

They all stood quickly, Scarlett walked over to stand close to Sherlock.

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" The Equerry asked sounding stunned.

Sherlock turned back to him, "No, I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think." The Equerry replied.

Sherlock looked at him sharply, Scarlett could tell he was feeling indignant that he would doubt him.

Scarlett watched silently as Sherlock deduced the man quickly, yet critically.

She gave him a quick glance too, she knew that she wouldn't pick up nearly as much detail as Sherlock. Still, every bit of practice helped her progress.

He drank tea, woke early, rode a horse, went to public school and was a non smoker but he carried a lighter.

Whilst Sherlock looked at the Equerry Scarlett said to Mycroft, "We'll need equipment I imagine."

Mycroft nodded, "Anything you require. I'll have it sent to..."

Sherlock interrupted them, "Can I have a box of matches?"

Scarlett smirked at the equerry looked shocked, "I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter. Whichever really." Scarlett added.

"I don't smoke." The man said, looking at her this time.

"No," Sherlock replied, "We know you don't but your employer does."

After a pause during which John frowned in puzzlement, the equerry reached into his pocket and took out a lighter which he handed to Sherlock.

"We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes." The equerry pressed.

"I'm not the Commonwealth." Sherlock replied curtly.

He took the lighter and put it into his trouser pocket, before turning away. Scarlett nodded her goodbyes and promptly followed. She heard John say to the men, "And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you."

In an Estuary English accent, not sounding the 't' in the word, Sherlock shouted, "Laters!" Over his shoulder to the room he was leaving.

They were in a taxi on the way to the flat not long after when John asked, "Okay you two, the smoking. How did you know?"

Sherlock smiled briefly, then shook his head. Scarlett smiled fondly at the doctor.

"The evidence was right under your nose, John. As ever, you see but do not observe." Sherlock informed their companion.

"Observe what?"

Sherlock reached into his coat saying, "The ashtray." He then produced said item.

John laughed with delight as Sherlock tossed the ashtray into the air, caught it and tucked it back into his coat, chuckling.

When they got back to Baker Street Scarlett joined John and sat in the living room. On the other side of the kitchen Sherlock was busy hurling clothes around his bedroom. With the door open, the noise was distracting and finally Scarlett looked up from her searches online about Universities.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she pushed the lock button on her touch screen tablet.

"I'm going into battle. I need the right armour." She caught sight of Sherlock as he walked into view of the door frame. John was watching now too as Sherlock shoved on a large yellow hi-vis jacket.

Sherlock looked down at himself for a second before declaring, "No!"

Scarlett smirked as the hi-vis was ripped off and thrown across the room. "Scarlett! Downstairs, now. Catch a cab." Sherlock called to her and she stood up to do as she'd been told, but not before rolling her eyes at John – who was trying not to laugh.

After all that messing around Sherlock hadn't even bothered to change she realised when the boys finally joined her outside.

When they were all finally inside the taxi John asked, "So, what's the plan?"

"We know her address." Sherlock replied simply.

"What, just ring her doorbell?" John asked sceptically.

"Exactly." Sherlock agreed before adding to the cabbie, "Just here, please."

"You didn't even change your clothes." She pointed out.

"Then it's time to add a splash of colour." Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a stiff piece of white card and placed it under his collar.

Scarlett looked at him incredulously and snorted, "You? A Victor? Really?"

Not too long after Sherlock had the cab pull over and the three of them pilled out. They were in a street presumably not too far away from Irene's house. She watched Sherlock pull off his scarf before he handed it to her.

He stopped, rolled his shoulders and turned around to face John.

"Are we here?" John asked, peering down the street.

"We're two streets away, but this'll do." Sherlock commented.

"For what?" John question, confused.

Sherlock gestured to his left cheek and to her surprise said to the doctor, "Punch me in the face."

"Punch you?" The other man replied seemingly shocked.

"Yes." Her uncle clarified, "Punch me, in the face." He gestured to his left cheek again. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually sub-text." John replied honestly. Scarlett laughed openly but stopped instantly at the look Sherlock was giving her.

"Oh, for God's sakes." Sherlock exclaimed exasperatedly – clearly bored of explaining himself. He lunged forward and punched John in the face and Scarlett recoiled with a gasp.

As John grunted in pain and reeled from the blow, Sherlock shook out his hand and then blew out a breath, bracing himself. John straightened up and immediately – and not surprisingly – punched Sherlock. The blow was a hard one and it sent Sherlock reeling also.

"Ow!" John cried loudly, making a point. The doctor flexed his arms, examined his knuckles. Sherlock finally straightened up, holding his fingers to the cut on his cheek.

"Thank you. That was – that was..." Sherlock began to say but stopped as John lunged for him again, punching him in the stomach, sending Sherlock back to the floor.

Scarlett watched open mouthed and wide-eyed on the side lines as the two still grappled. Sherlock was now doubled over with John on his back half–strangling him. The doctor's face was contorted with pent-up anger and frustration, an expression she'd never seen before. Sherlock was still struggling to pull his hands off him.

"Okay! I think we're done now, John." Sherlock half choked out as John continued to wring his neck.

Scarlett gasped and gave an astonished look as John replied savagely, "You wanna remember, Sherlock: I was a soldier. I killed people."

"You were a doctor!" Sherlock retorted, still being strangled.

"I had bad days!" John cried angrily.

"BOYS!" Scarlett yelled eventually, having had enough of the pair fighting. If they continued she was sure Sherlock would indeed end up dead.

They both look at her, turning their heads sideways in the direction of her voice. They had clearly forgotten she was there. She smirked as she looked at the scene, it looked like Sherlock was giving John a piggy back.

"If you're quite finished." Both of them cleared their throats and righted themselves, acting sheepish.

"Um, yes…Quite…" Sherlock said coughing before turning away from her, embarrassed, and walked out of the alley.

They only had to walk past a few more houses and they'd be at Irene Adler's house, "Everybody know the plan?" Sherlock asked them again and Scarlett rolled her eyes, annoyed.

"Just shut up and ring the doorbell." She told him.

Sherlock shot her a look as he stepped onto Irene's porch and rang the bell. There was a couple of seconds before the intercom was picked up on the other side of the door. "Hello?"

Sherlock stared into the camera wide-eyed and flustered. He talked in an anxious, tearful voice and kept looking around behind him as he spoke.

"Ooh! Um, sorry to disturb you. Um, I've just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they ... they took my wallet and, um, and my phone. Umm, please could you help me?"

Scarlett found it hard not to hit her face into one of the great white stone pillars that depicted the entrance to the house. There was no way this was going to get bought, surely.

"I can phone the police if you want." The same female voice asked. Scarlett guessed the voce belonged to a woman called Kate. A woman currently under The Woman's employment.

Sherlock tearfully replied, "Thank you, thank you! Could you, please?"

He took a step back, "Oh, would you ... would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come? Thank you. Thank you so much." Holding a handkerchief to his cheek, he started to grizzle pathetically. Scarlett rolled her eyes, he really was bad at this.

The woman buzzed him in a few seconds later. Sherlock entered swiftly and she shrugged at John before following suit. Sherlock stayed in character as he said, "Thank you…Er, ooh!" He added when he looked around the entrance hall.

John came in last and shut the door, "Um, hi. Sorry, we were passing by, saw it happen." Scarlett said as she walked forward to greet Irene's maid – Scarlett had summarised – whilst profiling the woman – Irene was a woman of expensive and luxurious taste. She was pleased to see she had not been wrong.

"Yes." John agreed as he too stepped forward, "It's okay, I'm a doctor." Kate nodded, smiling slightly. Scarlett could read the woman like a book and she knew that the trio had been expected, but still, they played the game.

"Now, have you got a first aid kit?" John asked, distracting her from her thoughts.

"In the kitchen." Kate replied with a nod, pointing to a door behind her. "But please." She adding, gesturing towards the living room for Sherlock and John.

"Oh! Thank you!" Sherlock said graciously. Scarlett went to follow but was stopped by Kate.

"How about you let the doctor stay with him and you help me with the kit?" She asked before walking towards the door of the kitchen.

Scarlett looked at Sherlock and John briefly who were both stood in the living room door frame, "Um, yeah, sure."

When the two of them were in the kitchen Scarlett swiftly dropped the act, "Why am I in here and not out there?"

"Miss Alder's about to, shall we say…introduce herself. No need for you to witness it, seeing as you're quite a fan of hers, Miss Holmes."

_Damn, these woman were good…_

* * *

><p><strong>Welcome, welcome, welcome to the second instalment of the 'The Other Holmes' series! If you haven't read the first one then that's okay, but there will be spoilers in this one relating to tweeks in Series One. So you may want to go a read it regardless. Plus it's awesome and I'm bias.<strong>

**If however you have rejoined me from the Series One Rewrite, welcome back! As I've explained I'm now at uni so the updates will be slower as I'm writing the segments one at a time now, I don't just have a back log. I promise I'll attempt to update as much as once a week. Sound fair? Good!**

**So, this is the first part of 'A Scandal in Belgravia' The second part should be up this time next week. **

**Please, Follow, Favourite, Comment. Most of all enjoy!**

**Speak soon, **

**HH**


	2. A Scandal in Belgravia: Part Two

A Scandal in Belgravia: Part Two

_"Now, have you got a first aid kit?" John asked, distracting her from her thoughts._

_"In the kitchen." Kate replied with a nod, pointing to a door behind her. "But please." She adding, gesturing towards the living room for Sherlock and John._

_"Oh! Thank you!" Sherlock said graciously. Scarlett went to follow but was stopped by Kate._

_"How about you let the doctor stay with him and you help me with the kit?" She asked before walking towards the door of the kitchen._

_Scarlett looked at Sherlock and John briefly who were both stood in the living room door frame, "Um, yeah, sure."_

_When the two of them were in the kitchen Scarlett swiftly dropped the act, "Why am I in here and not out there?"_

_"Miss Alder's about to, shall we say…introduce herself. No need for you to witness it, seeing as you're quite a fan of hers Miss Holmes."_

_Damn, these woman were good…_

* * *

><p>A few minutes later Scarlett was stood in the kitchen with Kate when she heard the clicking of heels down the wooden stairs. Kate grinned and put her fingers to her lips. The heels continued down the corridor and stopped nearly halfway down. The doorway where Sherlock and John were.<p>

"Hello. Sorry to hear that you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your names." That was all she heard of Irene Adler's voice before the door to that room was shut.

Scarlett was stood with her back resting against one of the beautifully furnished sideboards in the kitchen. She was at odds about whether she should strike up a conversation with Kate when the intercom in on the polished oak table went off. She and Kate caught the end of what Irene was saying:

"No, I think he knows exactly where. I'm not sure about you." There was a pause, clearly deliberate to get Scarlett thinking about the conversation they were just having. "Kate," Irene continued after a second, "Tell that beautiful brunette she can come in now."

Kate just looked at Scarlett, then the door, and gestured with her hand.

_Alright then._

Scarlett left the room and walked down the corridor, the rubber of her high tops scrapping the floor slightly - leaving white marks. She stopped at the door, facing the white wood panelling. She hasn't met Irene but through the extensive profiling she'd been doing, she knew this wouldn't be easy.

She took a deep breath and turned the rounded door knob. The door yielded effortlessly, swinging into the room and she stepped forward. Irene was sat on the sofa - wearing Sherlock's coat - John was awkwardly perched on the other end. Sherlock stood by the fire. They all turned to look at her as the door opened.

"Scarlett. Hello. Kate was looking after you alright?" Irene asked over the back of her seat.

"Yes, thanks." She said as she walked further into the room, bypassing John so she could lean against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

"Oh no you don't." Irene said sticking her arm out as she went to pass. "I want that beautiful face where I can see it."

Scarlett looked down at Irene and smirked to keep up appearances, "Of course." She decided to lean against the fireplace wall so she could keep an eye on everyone else in the room.

"Mmm, obedient little thing, isn't she?" Irene observed leaning forward, looking at Sherlock for a reaction, "A heart breaker too, I'm betting."

Scarlett didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow, "No?" Irene asked surprised.

"Well," Irene continued after a second, "never mind. We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know. How was it done?" Irene focused on Sherlock properly again.

"What?" Sherlock asked slightly confused after the abrupt change of topic.

Irene removed her black heels with red bottoms before continuing. "The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?"

Scarlett hadn't been present during the case that morning so she had a right to not understand what was going on. Sherlock and John, however? She had no clue why they were confused.

"That's...not why I'm here." Sherlock replied after a second.

"No, no, no," Irene agreed, "you're here for the photographs but that's never gonna happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway..." She trailed off at the look of shock on the boys faces.

"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" John asked perplexed, turning in his seat to face Irene.

"I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes." She said with a casual shrug.

"Oh." John replied shortly, "And you like policemen?"

"I like detective stories – and detectives." Irene said to John, "Brainy's the new sexy."

Scarlett and John both stared at Sherlock in bewilderment as he incoherently replied, "Positionofthecar..."

Sherlock began to slowly pace, pulling himself together, "Er, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

"Okay," Irene said slowly, "tell me: how was he murdered?"

"He wasn't." Sherlock replied, his air of smugness returning to him.

"You don't think it was murder?" Irene questioned.

"I know it wasn't." Sherlock said with a smirk as he continued to pace.

"How?" Irene asked.

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

"Okay, but how?" Irene said, walking right into Sherlock's trap. Scarlett smiled slightly and The Woman's error.

"So they are in this room. Thank you." Sherlock concluded before turning to John, "John, man the door. Let no-one in."

The two of them exchange a significant look, then John got up, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. In the hallway Scarlett knew he was going to attempt to set off the smoke alarm. In the sitting room, Irene sat up straighter, looking suspiciously at the closed door.

Sherlock started to pace again addressing Scarlett as well as Irene, "Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car."

"Oh." Irene stated, confused, "I – I thought you were looking for the photos now."

"No, no. Looking takes ages." Scarlett said, still lent against the wall, speaking to Irene for the first time.

"We're just going to find them but you're moderately clever and we've got a moment, so let's pass the time." Sherlock concluded. He stopped and turned to Irene.

"Two men, a car, and nobody else."

Scarlett watched as Sherlock squatted down and she realised he was mentally reconstructing the crime scene. "The driver's trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere." Straightening up, he turned and looked without seeing around the room. "And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky. Watching the birds?"

She observed Sherlock, looking doubtful. "Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?" Sherlock asked the room at large.

Irene – who was still sitting on her sofa – looked at her before saying, "The hiker's going to die."

"No, that's the result. What's going to happen?" Sherlock corrected, sounding irritated.

"I don't understand." Irene replied.

"Oh, well, try to." Sherlock prompted.

"Why?" Irene asked becoming defensive.

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It's the new sexy." Sherlock replied and Scarlett decided to ignore the latter part of the comment.

"The car's going to backfire." Irene replied after a second of thinking.

"There's going to be a loud noise." Sherlock agreed.

"So, what?" Irene asked, becoming tense.

"Noises are important." Scarlett said, "Noises can tell you everything. For instance..." She paused dramatically for a second, waiting for the smoke alarm to ring out. Irene turned to look at the large mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock and Scarlet followed her gaze.

"Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." Sherlock commented as Scarlett joined him over at the fireplace. She watched as he ran his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. Finding a switch under there, he pressed it and the mirror slid upwards, revealing a small wall safe behind it. Scarlett turned, looked at Irene as the latter stood up.

"Really hope you don't have a baby in here." She commented before she called out to John in the corridor, "All right, John, you can turn it off now."

It stopped abruptly and she turned her attention to Sherlock once more. He was looking closely at the number pad on the front of the safe.

"Hmm." He began to say, "Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used – that's quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I'd say from the make that it's a six digit code. Can't be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight's barely used, so…"

"I'd tell you the code right now," Irene said coolly and Scarlett looked at the woman, "but you know what? I already have." Sherlock frowned at her as Irene continued, "Think."

The door burst open and a man along with several others – one holding John - came in and aiming his pistol at Sherlock.

"Hands behind your head." He demanded of them all before looking specifically at Irene, "On the floor. Keep it still."

A third man went to keep an eye on Irene as a fourth made a grab for her. "Sorry, Sherlock." John apologised, although there was nothing to apologise for.

Sherlock raised his hands, the leader of the group looked around at Irene again. "Ms Adler, on the floor. You too, Miss Holmes."

His colleague shoved Scarlett to her knees in between Irene and John who has also been pushed to his knees. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched as she felt the barrel of a pistol being held to her neck.

To her surprised she felt John take her hand in his and squeeze in reassurance as Sherlock said causally, "Don't you want me on the floor too?"

"No, sir, I want you to open the safe." The ring leader demanded.

"American…" Scarlett breathed as she clocked his accent at the same time as Sherlock.

"American. Interesting. Why would you care?" Her uncle asked, intrigued.

He glanced across at Irene as she too put her hands behind her head. "Sir, the safe, now, please."

"I don't know the code." Sherlock replied, truthfully.

"We've been listening. Adler said she told you." The main American stated.

"Well, if you'd been listening," Sherlock retorted, "you'd know she didn't."

"I'm assuming I missed something." The American said, getting annoyed, "From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr. Holmes."

"For God's sake. Irene's the one who knows the code. Ask her." John said, getting stressed.

"Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."

"Mr. Holmes doesn't..." Irene began.

"Shut up. One more word out of you – just one – and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship."

Sherlock glared at him ferociously as the man continued, "Hmm, pressure points…Mr. Archer. At the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson."

"What?" She heard John gasp.

_He was not going to die._

"I don't have the code." Sherlock insisted.

"One."

Sherlock sounded emphatic as he again insisted, "I don't know the code."

"Two."

"She didn't tell me." She registered Sherlock's voice as it rose, "I don't know it!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now." The main American answered coldly. With her eyes shut in fear for John she didn't see Sherlock and Irene exchange glances. "Three."

_And…bang…_

"No, stop!" Sherlock cried.

…_Or, maybe not…_

She heard the sound of beeping as Sherlock typed in the digits into the safe, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please." The American asked.

"Vatican cameos." Sherlock said urgently as he did as he was asked. She wasn't sure if she pulled John to the ground or if he pulled her.

Sherlock pulled open the door of the safe whilst he ducked down below the fireplace. Inside the safe, a tripwire attached to the door tugged on the trigger of a pistol with an equally long and over-compensatory silencer which was aimed straight out of the safe. The gun fired and Archer – who happened to be standing directly in front of it – was shot in the chest. Sherlock grabbed for the main guys pistol as Irene spun around on her knees and savagely elbowed her guard in the groin. Pulling the pistol from the first man's grip, Sherlock held the silencer end and smashed the butt across his face, the main American dropped to the floor, unconscious. Together Scarlett and John both turned on the remaining guard behind the doctor. Knocking him back so he fell, hit his head and fell unconscious. As Irene's guard crumpled under her blow, she grappled for his pistol and was on her feet, aiming it down at him while he was still falling.

"D'you mind?" Sherlock asked The Woman.

"Not at all." She replied as her guard tried to get up again, she slammed the gun across his face and knocks him unconscious. While Irene was distracted, Scarlett noticed Sherlock reach into the safe and take something out of it, presumably the photos. Nearby, John checked Archer over as she stood up.

"He's dead." The doctor said to the room.

"Good." Scarlett replied without thinking. She went around the unconscious bodies quickly, looking for forms of ID. "Nielson, Archer, Matthews, Wills..." She muttered as she chucked each ID back on the ground.

"Thank you." She heard Irene saying to Sherlock as she refocused, "You were very observant."

"Observant?" John asked at once.

"I'm flattered." Irene finished.

"Don't be." Sherlock replied as he glanced at John.

"Flattered?" John asked as Scarlett also looked at the doctor.

"There'll be more of them." Sherlock stated, changing the subject, "They'll be keeping an eye on the building."

Still holding the pistol but having removed the silencer, Sherlock hurried out of the room as John tucked Archer's gun into the back of his jeans and followed him. Scarlett walked out into the corridor, as Sherlock trotted out onto the street, John behind him.

"We should call the police." John said.

"Yes." Sherlock agreed and she turned her head to look through the open front door as Sherlock shot his gun five times into the air. Near-by tyre's screeched.

"They're on their way." Sherlock replied as he turned to re-enter the house.

"For God's sake!" John complained.

"Oh shut up." Sherlock said, "It's quick. Check the rest of the house. See how they got in."

Sherlock passed Scarlett as he stepped into the living room. As John headed off, Scarlett twisted in the corridor, seeking Sherlock. She watched as – in the living room – he took the item which he just stole from the safe out of his pocket and tossed it nonchalantly into the air.

"Well, that's the knighthood in the bag." He commented.

"Ah." Irene replied, "And that's mine."

Sherlock switched on the security lock on the phone he was holding. If he couldn't open it then it'd need a passcode she realised, "All the photographs are on here, I presume."

"I have copies, of course." She heard Irene say.

"No you don't." Scarlett answered back as she stepped slightly into the living room to look at Irene. "You'll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of that phone are provably unique, you wouldn't be able to sell them."

Irene, who had her hand outstretched, asked her, "Who said I'm selling?"

Scarlett looked at the dead and unconscious bodies lying on the floor, "Well, why would they be interested? Whatever's on the phone, it's clearly not just photographs." She said, her eyebrows creasing.

Irene turned back to Sherlock, "That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes. I'd die before I let you take it." She walked closer to him and held out her hand again. "It's my protection."

"Sherlock! Scarlett!" The doctor called for them, somewhere upstairs.

Sherlock pulled the phone back, looking at Irene pointedly with a shake of the head, "It was."

Both she and Sherlock turned to get upstairs, Irene followed.

Upstairs in the bedroom, John was knelt over the silent figure of Kate lying on the floor. Putting his ear to her mouth to check her breathing, he straightened up and took her pulse. Standing up, he walked into the en suite bathroom and looked at the open window in there. Sherlock and Scarlett came into the bedroom followed by Irene.

"Must have come in this way." The doctor supplied.

"Clearly." Sherlock answered shortly.

Sherlock entered the bathroom to look out of the window as Scarlett spotted Irene walk anxiously towards Kate.

"It's all right. She's just out cold." John told Irene.

"Well, God knows she's used to that. There's a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson." Irene spoke to the ex-solider. Sherlock came out of the bathroom and nodded to him.

"Sure." The doctor replied bewildered before leaving.

Scarlett stepped out of Irene's way as she made her way to her dressing table. Ignoring what the woman was doing Scarlett walked over to Sherlock who was looking at the camera phone. "Scarlett, dear. Why don't you go and help Doctor Watson?"

Scarlett didn't know why she obeyed, but she did. She left the room in search of John. She didn't have to look for the doctor for long, she found him at the bottom of the stairs, "The back door alright?" She asked.

"Yeah, fine." He replied as he joined her at the top of the stairs, "What are you doing out here?"

"Irene practically dismissed me, probably so she could flirt with Sherlock." Scarlett sighed as they headed back into the bedroom.

The sight that greeted them was Sherlock, on the floor, convulsing. She rushed forward to support her uncle as John asked Irene, "Jesus. What are you doing?"

"He'll sleep for a few hours." The Woman replied. "Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse."

Scarlett looked up in time to see Irene sitting on the windowsill in her bathroom. She had her feet up on the edge of the bath and was taking hold of a cord hanging from the ledge. It was then Scarlett noticed the syringe on the floor she picked it up.

"What's in Sherlock's system?" She asked calmly.

"He'll be fine." Irene reassured her, "I've used it on loads of my friends."

John knelt down beside her and said, "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

"You know, I was wrong about him." Irene said looking down at Sherlock, "He did know where to look."

John stood back up, "For what? What are you talking about?"

"The key code to my safe." Irene replied.

"What was it?" John asked as Scarlett tried to keep Sherlock still as Irene looked at him.

"Shall I tell them?" She asked Sherlock.

John looked down at Sherlock for a moment then turned back to Irene just as sirens announced the arrival of the police. Irene smiled at them, "My measurements."

_Huh, she didn't know what to think about that. _

Irene pushed her feet against the edge of the bath and toppled backwards out of the window, still holding what looked like a thin rope. John hurried over to the window and looked out whilst Sherlock still tried vainly to lift himself up but continued to fall back helplessly.

Scarlett and John entered the flat a little while later holding Sherlock between them. "You got him?" She asked John before she let go of Sherlock's side so she could open his bedroom door.

"Yeah." John nodded.

With the door opened Scarlett returned to Sherlock's side as he began to mumble about elements in the periodic table. She helped John get him into bed carefully before they both exited the room. "How long did you say this would last?" She asked the doctor, referring to her uncle's state.

"He'll be fine by the morning." John reassured, "Just let him sleep it off."

A few hours later both she and John were still in the living room when she heard her name being called from Sherlock's room, "Scarlett?"

She looked over to John who shrugged. When she didn't reply straight away Sherlock called for her again, only louder, "Scarlett!"

She sighed good-naturedly as she went to check in on her uncle. She opened his door just in time to watch him roll off the foot of his bed in a tangle of sheets.

"You okay?" She asked as she clung onto the door frame.

"How did I get here?" Sherlock asked her, blearily.

"You were drugged by Irene, Lestrade drove you home in one of the police cars. Heads up: He filmed you."

Scarlett watched as Sherlock tried to get to his feet, "Where is she?"

"Irene? Sorry, Sherlock, she got away, no one spotted her." Scarlett replied in earnest.

Sherlock, now on his feet, stumbled over to the open window and looked through it. Scarlett noticed a red lipstick kiss on the corner of his mouth that she thought best not to mention. "She wasn't here, Sherlock." Scarlett lied.

Turning around, Sherlock either fell down again or deliberately dropped to the floor – she couldn't decide which. Whilst he was down there he dragged himself across the floor and peered under the bed as if looking to see whether Irene was hiding under there. Then he squinted around as if checking that she wasn't hidden under or behind the wardrobe.

"What are you doing...?" Scarlett asked incredulously as she pushed him back onto his bed face first. "Back to bed. John say's you'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

In a muffled, blurry voice Sherlock replied sluggishly, "Of course I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm absolutely fine."

"Yes, you're great." She replied sarcastically, "Now I'll be next door if you need me along with John."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock asked in fuzzy confusion.

"I don't know; you were the one that called for me." She replied before shutting the door behind her.

The next morning Scarlett, Sherlock and John were sat at the table in the living room. John was the only one eating though as Sherlock was reading the paper, Scarlett was trying to ignore Mycroft and Mrs Hudson was in the kitchen.

"The photographs are perfectly safe." Sherlock told Mycroft again.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker." Mycroft replied sourly.

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants...protection for some reason." Sherlock said, looking over the top of his paper to his brother. "I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied." Mycroft answered.

Scarlett smirked, "She'd applaud your choice of words. You see how this works: that camera phone is her 'Get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

"Though not the way she treats royalty." John tagged on and they both smiled sarcastically at her eldest uncle. Who in turn, smiled humourlessly back at the pair.

Just then an orgasmic female sigh filled the room. John and Mycroft frowned while Scarlett inwardly applauded Irene's choice of text tone.

"What was that?" John asked, stunned.

Trying to look nonchalant Sherlock answered, "Text."

"But what was that noise?" John insisted.

She watched Sherlock get up and go over to pick up his phone from nearby. He looked at the message briefly before saying, "Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess."

He made his way back over to the table and sat down again as Scarlett looked around at Mycroft. "Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft. They almost killed John!"

Mrs Hudson brought in a plate of breakfast from the kitchen and put it down in front of Sherlock before saying sternly, "It's a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes."

"Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson." Mycroft said snidely.

It amazed her slightly that Sherlock, John and she cried out in outrage at the same time. Sherlock with, "MYCROFT!"

John with, "OI!"

Scarlett with, "HOW DARE YOU!"

Mycroft looked at their angry faces glaring at him, then cringed and looked contritely at Mrs Hudson, "Apologies."

"Thank you." Mrs Hudson replied stiffly.

"Though do, in fact, shut up." Sherlock told their landlady, it amused Scarlett that Sherlock could practically get away with murder. His phone sighed orgasmically again.

Mrs Hudson, who was going back into the kitchen, turned back. "Ooh. It's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?"

Sherlock read the most recent message from Irene before saying, "There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see."

"I can put maximum surveillance on her." Mycroft threatened, as though it would affect them.

"Why bother?" Sherlock said, sounding bored, "You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is ' TheWhipHand'."

"Yes. Most amusing." Mycroft sighed, his phone rang moments later and he left the room to take the call. Scarlett watched him with suspicion. "Hello."

"Why does your phone make that noise?" John asked Sherlock breaking her concentration.

"What noise?" Sherlock faked innocence.

"That noise – the one it just made." John clarified.

"It's a text alert. It means I've got a text."

"Hmm. Your texts don't usually make that noise." John said though as he paused in eating his breakfast.

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise." Sherlock said curtly.

"Hmm. So every time they text you..." John trailed off as the orgasmic text noise went off again.

"It would seem so." Sherlock confirmed.

"Could you turn that phone down a bit?" Mrs Hudson asked, "At my time of life."

Sherlock put down the phone again after reading the message and returned to reading the paper, the headline of which read: Refit for Historical Hospital

"I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" John thought out loud.

Sherlock raised his newspaper so that it was obscuring his face, "I'll leave you to your deductions."

John smiled, "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Where do you get that idea?" Scarlett asked him casually.

Mycroft came back into the room, still talking on his phone. "Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later." He hung up as Sherlock and Scarlett looked at him curiously.

"What else does she have?" Sherlock asked before she could say anything.

Mycroft looked at him enquiringly but gave no answer so Sherlock pressed on, "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." She watched Impressed as Sherlock stood up and faced down his brother. "Much more."

Mycroft looked at him stony-faced. Sherlock walked closer to him. "Something big's coming, isn't it?"

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on you will stay out of this."

"Oh, will I?" Sherlock asked his tone becoming serious.

"Yes, Sherlock," Mycroft replied, voice deadly, "you will."

Sherlock shrugs and turns away as Mycroft cleared his throat and said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

Sherlock picked up his violin and said, "Do give her my love." To Scarlett's amusement he began to play, 'God Save The Queen'. Mycroft rolled his eyes, turned and left the room, Sherlock following along behind him as John grinned began to grin. As Mycroft hurried down the stairs, Sherlock turned back and walked over to the window, still playing.

Before Scarlett knew where the time had gone it was Christmas. Fairy lights were strung up around the window frame of the flat and it was snowing outside. Inside, the living room was festooned with Christmas decorations and cards, and Sherlock was walking around playing, 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' on his violin.

Mrs Hudson was sitting in his chair with a glass in her hand, watching him happily. Lestrade was standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding a wine glass, and John – wearing a very snazzy Christmassy jumper – walked across the room with a cup and saucer in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. As Sherlock finished the tune with a fancy flourish, Lestrade whistled in appreciation.

"Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!" The landlady giggled.

"Marvellous!" John agreed.

It was clear to her that Mrs Hudson was a little bit tipsy as she continued to giggle up at Sherlock.

"I wish you could have worn the antlers!" The older woman revealed.

"Trust me Mrs. H, Some things are best left to the imagination." Scarlett said with a smile and a wink at the landlady.

Mrs Hudson continued to giggle as John handed her over a cup of tea in an attempt to sober her up. John's latest girlfriend – Jeanette – brought her over a tray containing mince pies and slices of cake.

"No thank you, Jeanette." She said turning down the sweets.

Sherlock looked at her confused, "Jeanette? I thought she was Sarah."

Scarlett cringed as John tried to rectify the situation. "Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names." John insured as he awkwardly shepherded Jeanette away.

Sherlock looked across to the door as a new arrival came in. It was Molly, Scarlett shot Sherlock a look which she meant to be, 'Behave yourself!'

Clearly he didn't interpret it as such as she heard him say a few seconds later, "Oh, dear Lord."

"Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello." Molly said as she walked further into the room, carrying presents. Scarlett waved happily to the young woman as John went to greet her. "Er, it said on the door just to come up."

"Oh, everybody's saying hullo to each other. How wonderful." Sherlock said to her and she had to laugh.

_Poor Sherlock. He really wasn't suited to all of this._

Smiling at Sherlock nervously, Molly started to take her coat and scarf off. "Let me, er... holy Mary!" John cried, stunned.

Molly was wearing a very attractive black dress that suited her extremely well, "Wow!" Lestrade commented in appreciation.

"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?" Molly asked the room.

"No stopping them, apparently." Sherlock said sourly.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it's almost worth it!"

"I on the other hand am always nice to you, Mrs H." Scarlett smiled sweetly.

Molly giggled nervously, her eyes fixed on Sherlock as he started typing on John's laptop. John brings a chair over for her. "Have a seat."

"John?" Sherlock called.

"Mmm?" John answered. As he went over to see what Sherlock was looking at, Lestrade touched Molly's arm to get her attention.

"Molly?" She turned to him. "Want a drink?" She accepted his offer, John leant over Sherlock's shoulder to look at the screen.

"The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five." Sherlock revealed.

She giggled slightly as John pulled a mock-angry face, "Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!"

Sherlock pointed to the side bar which had one of the press pictures of him in his deerstalker. "And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!"

John shrugged, "People like the hat."

"No they don't." Sherlock said defiantly, "What people?" Sherlock continued looking at the laptop as John walked away.

Molly turned to Mrs Hudson to strike up conversation, "How's the hip?"

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking." Mrs Hudson replied as she took a sip of her drink.

"I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." An awkward silence fell across the room as Molly looked embarrassed. "Oh, God. Sorry."

"Don't make jokes, Molly." Sherlock said to her as Scarlett glared at him.

"No. Sorry." Molly insisted.

Lestrade hands her a glass of red wine to distract her, "Thank you. I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas."

"That's first thing in the morning. Me and the wife – we're back together. It's all sorted." Lestrade grinned happily.

Without looking up from the computer Sherlock began to say, "No, she's sleeping with –" Scarlett threw a well-aimed pillow at Sherlock to stop him, but the damage was done.

Lestrade's smile became rather fixed. Molly turned to John who was sitting on the arm of his armchair. Jeanette was sitting in the chair itself. "And John. I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

"Yeah." John nodded, grinning.

"Sherlock was complaining… I mean saying." Molly corrected herself as Sherlock looked at her indignantly.

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze."

"Nope." Sherlock said, popping the _P. _

_Is was why they stayed away from people. Sherlock was always right. Which could hurt people._

"Shut up, Sherlock." John said quickly.

Scarlett caught Sherlock looking at the bag of gifts and knew exactly what he was going to say to Molly next. Only Sherlock, being Sherlock, wouldn't see that he'd hurt her until it was all over.

As he opened his mouth to speak she stopped him, "Don't you even think about it, Sherlock."

The room stopped to watch the exchange between the Uncle and Niece, "Oh, so you spotted it too?"

"Yes I spotted it. But you're not going to mention it." Scarlett said seriously referring to the gift Molly had bought for Sherlock, even if he was stupid enough to not know it was his.

The on-lookers threw glances at each other as Scarlett stood from her seat, poured Sherlock a scotch and said, "Behave, just for tonight."

Sherlock looked at her for a moment, seeming to gauge how serious she was before he glanced – unnoticed by the other because Scarlett was blocking their view – at Molly. "You know something I don't?" He asked perplexed.

"On some level Sherlock, I always know something you don't." She said walking over to the mantelpiece, having spotted something interesting, "Trust me this once. It's better for everyone involved."

The others in the room practically gawped in amazement as Sherlock relented to niece, "Have it your way, then."

She grinned triumphantly, having spared Molly the further embarrassment of Sherlock. She caught John's eye and he was nodding approvingly. She picked up the little red package on the mantelpiece that had caught her attention. Conversation had picked back up quickly only to be interrupted by Irene's personal text noise.

"Oh, god…" Molly cried, going red.

"Sorry, it was me." Sherlock said, realising that some members of the room didn't know this.

"My God, really?!" Lestrade said.

"What?!" Molly gasped.

"My phone." Sherlock clarified as he pulled the said device from his pocket.

Scarlett watched John narrow his eyes, "Fifty-seven?" He asked.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

"Fifty-seven of those texts – the ones I've heard." John replied.

Sherlock looked at the message and read out the word, "Mantelpiece." To the room. He looked up, saw Scarlett and what she was holding, "What is it?"

"I don't know," She replied truthfully, "It just caught my eye. I think I know who it's from, though."

She passed him the box – blood red, the shade of Irene's lipstick held together with a rope like ribbon – as she looked at John, "Thrilling that you've been counting." She said, trying to keep the tone light. She had a good idea of what was in that box, and if she was right? That didn't bode well for The Woman.

"'Scuse me." Sherlock said seconds later, obviously thinking along the same lines as her.

As he walked toward the kitchen John tried to talk to him, "What – what's up, Sherlock?"

"I said excuse me." Sherlock said as he continued on into his bedroom. John was about to bite back when he caught the look on Scarlett's face.

"What's wrong?" John asked confused.

"Irene. She's dead, John."

Mrs Hudson sighed, "The poor dear…"

"Well, that's Christmas cancelled for us." Scarlett sighed. "I don't think Sherlock will want to socialise much after this."

She wanted them to leave, just to save them, but she didn't know how to say it. "Well," Lestrade said, seeming to sense her thoughts, "If you're alright with it, I better be off. Don't think there's much point in me hanging around."

"Yeah, no, that's fine. You've got to travel in the morning." Scarlett said, forcing a smile as she followed the D.I down the stairs.

Molly was the next to leave, saying less tactfully that if any bodies appeared in the morgue then she'd need to go into work.

She sat in the flat with John, his girlfriend and Mrs Hudson, who was busying herself. She heard Sherlock's bedroom door open, he walked quickly through the flat not looking at any of them. "Stay here." He told her, although she hadn't moved.

"Okay…" She replied quietly as he walked down the stairs. She waited until the front door had shut and bolted into his bedroom, checking to see if his was clean.

John soon joined the search, along with Mrs Hudson. Every now and then she would catch Jeanette glaring at John's back.

About twenty minutes later Scarlett's phone rang out, "He's on his way." Mycroft told her. "Have you found anything?"

"No." She replied, "He took the cigarette?"

"Yes." Mycroft said after a second.

"Oh no… He's coming. Ten minutes." She said the last part to John and Mrs Hudson over her shoulder.

"There's nothing in the bedroom." Mrs Hudson reassured her after she had double checked.

"Looks like he's clean. We've tried all the usual places." She spoke down the receiver.

"You have to stay with him, Scarlett."

"No," She said sarcastically, "I'm just going to abandon him."

She cut off the line before sighing, "You two should go." She said to John and Jeanette. "You won't want to see him when he comes back."

John looked at her, clearly unsure. The look didn't go amiss by Jeanette, "I am really sorry about all of this." He said to Jeanette as he looked at Scarlett briefly again.

"You know, my friends are so wrong about you." Jeanette said.

"Hmm?" John asked.

"You're a great boyfriend." Jeanette continued and Scarlett could practically cut the bitterness she was radiating with a knife.

Not spotting it however John said, "Okay, that's good. I mean, I always thought I was great."

"And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man."

John groaned, "Jeanette, please."

As she put her shoes on she continued bitterly, "No, I mean it. It's heart-warming. You'll do anything for him – and he can't even tell your girlfriends apart." She got off the sofa and headed for the door. John jumped up and followed her as she put her coat on.

"No, I'll do anything for you. Just tell me what it is I'm not doing. Tell me!" Scarlett caught Mrs Hudson's eye and they both grimaced.

"Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes." Jeanette said angrily.

"I'll walk your dog for you." John said, promising her nothing to do with Sherlock, "Hey, I've said it now. I'll even walk your dog..."

"I don't have a dog!" She cried.

"No, because that was... the last one. Okay." John sighed, at a loss.

"Jesus!" Jeanette picked up her bag and promptly stormed out.

"I'll call you." John said after her.

To which Jeanette shouted back, "No!"

"Okay." John replied exasperated, he turned back into the room as Jeanette ran down the stairs. Mrs Hudson looks at him sympathetically, saying what Scarlett felt she shouldn't, "That really wasn't very good, was it?"

Shortly afterwards, Scarlett and John were sitting in the living room. John reading, Scarlett curled in her chair, worried as Sherlock came up the stairs. He stopped in the doorway living room, looking at them both.

"Hello." Scarlett greeted him. John did much the same.

Sherlock just stood there, his eyes roaming all around the living room, "You okay?" John asked.

Sherlock continued to scan the room for a long moment, then turned and walked back to the kitchen door, heading for his bedroom. All he said was, "Hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time." Before his bedroom door slammed shut.

"Sherlock…" Scarlett sighed, looking a John, both of them at a loss.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Note:<span>**

**Sorry I haven't updated in ages, guys. I was sick, like properly 'rushed into hospital sick' the doctor's said I'd been drugged when I went out clubbing. (The only time I choice to socialise and I get drugged for my pains: how is that fair?!) I got back about a week ago and just haven't had the energy to do anything. I'm off for the week along with the rest of the uni during Reading Week now though.**

**Sorry if this chapter seems generic and if there are any errors. I won't make any promises about when the next chapter will be up as I'm still not 100% over this.**

**I own nothing, bar Scarlett.**

**Thank you for all the favourites and follows!**

**Your devoted (if ill) writer,**

**HH**


	3. A Scandal in Belgravia: Part Three

A Scandal in Belgravia: Part Three

_Shortly afterwards, Scarlett and John were sitting in the living room. John reading, Scarlett curled in her chair, worried as Sherlock came up the stairs. He stopped in the doorway living room, looking at them both._

_"Hello." Scarlett greeted him. John did much the same._

_Sherlock just stood there, his eyes roaming all around the living room, "You okay?" John asked._

_Sherlock continued to scan the room for a long moment, then turned and walked back to the kitchen door, heading for his bedroom. All he said was, "Hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time." Before his bedroom door slammed shut._

_"Sherlock…" Scarlett sighed, looking a John, both of them at a loss. _

* * *

><p>The remainder of December ran into January and Sherlock, Scarlett concluded, was not himself.<p>

That particular morning at Two-Two-One-B Sherlock was standing at the window in the living room, playing a sad lament on his violin. John walked into the room and sighed at the sight of him. Mrs Hudson walked across to the table and picked up the breakfast plates – Sherlock had touched none of his. John hummed resignedly as he took his jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. Sherlock stopped playing and picked up a pencil to make a notation on his music.

"Lovely tune, Sherlock." Mrs Hudson commented, "Haven't heard that one before."

"You composing?" John asked, although the answer was fairly obvious she would forgive John for his awful question if it meant they could have a decent conversation.

"Helps me to think." Sherlock replied shortly as he turned back to the window, lifted the violin and began to play the same tune again.

"What are you thinking about?" John coaxed.

Sherlock suddenly spun around and put the violin down. He pointed at John's laptop before rapidly saying, "The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five." Scarlett watched, happy to see him engaging.

"Yeah, it's faulty." John replied, "Can't seem to fix it."

Sherlock took out Irene's camera phone, "Faulty – or you've been hacked and it's a message." He pulled up the security lock with, 'I AM - LOCKED' screen.

"Hmm?" John queried.

She assumed that Sherlock typed: One-Eight-Nine-Five into the phone. The phone beeped warningly and the enthusiasm in Sherlock's eyes died.

"Just faulty." Sherlock replied as he turned away and picked up his violin again.

"Right." John answered, looking to Scarlett who felt herself floundering as Sherlock restarted his sad tune. "Right." The doctor repeated, "Well, I'm going out for a bit."

Sherlock didn't respond as John turned and walked to the kitchen where Mrs Hudson was tidying up. Scarlett joined them, feeling as though she shouldn't disturb Sherlock.

"Listen," John said to them both when she joined them in the kitchen. "Has he ever had any kind of…" He sighed, "...girlfriend, boyfriend, a relationship, ever?"

"I don't know." Mrs Hudson replied.

"Not since I've known him." Scarlett answered. It was true, not once since she'd been with him had she known Sherlock to even go on a date. The concept was completely foreign to her.

John sighed in frustration, "How can we not know?"

"He's Sherlock." Their landlady offered in ways of reasoning, "How will we ever know what goes on in that funny old head?"

John smiled sadly to them both as he said bye, "Right. See ya." He trotted off down the stairs. Mrs Hudson looked at Sherlock playing his violin at the window, and then left the room.

A little while later Sherlock turned to the living room and made to exit the flat, "I'm stepping out for a bit, stay here." He said to her.

"Will do." She replied easily.

Break Line – POV Change – Break Line

He was following John. The doctor had decided to get into one of Mycroft's cars. Anything concerning Mycroft would be pointless he knew. It would be best to keep an eye on the situation, however. He got a cab and had the car followed at a safe distance.

He wondered vaguely if he should let Scarlett know where he was going. He decided against it. She had been keeping a close on him lately, ever since Christmas…

He was starting to concern her, he knew. Her concern was trivial and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. She needn't be worried, it was childish. He had thought that he had taught her to place all her feelings under the radar. To ignore them.

She was Empathic, though. As easy as he made it sound – to blot out emotion – he stopped to consider the fact that it wasn't just her own emotions she was feeling. She felt everyone else's too, as long as they were strong enough.

Could she pick up on what he was feeling over recent events? How could she when he didn't even know how to rationalise to himself how he was feeling? Maybe he should, at the very least, try to have a lengthy conversation with her once more. Perhaps that would ease her troubled mind.

He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as the cab arrived at an abandoned factory on a building site, somewhere in London. Scarlett would have to wait, getting John away from Mycroft was the task at hand now.

In the hollowed out factory it was easy to pinpoint the sound of voices. John, talking to his brother loudly. Only, when he climbed onto a platform on the level above the pair and hid amongst the steel pipes and other material he realised it was not Mycroft whom had summoned John.

"We're not a couple." John protested, as he often did.

"Yes you are." The reply was something he never thought he'd hear. "There...'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner.'"

How had she done it? More importantly, how had he not figured it out? He, Sherlock Holmes had been fooled by a dominatrix. He stood quiet still knowing that the message would come through soon. They would know he was here.

He ignored John as he ranted about his sexual preference. It was all so irrelevant. She must have known – like she knew many useful men – the DNA record keeper. He'd faked the results, she'd gotten a hold of a look-a-like, bashed it up, made sure the measurements matched.

Her personalised text alert noise rang out from his phone, letting know he was within ear shot of them. He left the pair quickly, eager to exit the building, heading for the cab that he had told to wait for his return.

She had tricked him, he couldn't get over it. Such a simple minded solution, he'd skipped right over the possibility of a look-a-like. No one in a state of grieving would check to see if the body definitely was that of the deceased.

Grieving.

The word stuck with him as he got out of the cab, mindlessly paid the driver and continued on his way down the street, back to the flat. Was that the problem he had been experiencing? Was he in fact grieving over the idea of her death? Why? Why would his mind betray and trick into such an uncharacteristic act?

He was no closer to finding the answers to his questions as he reached the front door of Two-Two-One-B. His mind was still sluggish, lost and confused. That was until he saw the door had been jemmied open, splintering the door frames wood.

His mind sharpened, the fog lifted and his brain started to work double time as he slowly entered the building. Next door he could hear Mrs Hudson serving the lunchtime rush. Meaning that the people in the flat had gone straight upstairs to his flat.

Scarlett.

He felt something shift in him as he picked up a can of cleaning spray from Mrs Hudson's supply which she had left in the hall outside of the flat door. His sharp mind focused on one important thing. The damage these people had potentially inflicted on _his_ Niece.

Break Line – POV Change – Break Line

She heard one of the stairs creak as she was held on her chair in the middle of the flat by Nielson and his two men from Irene's house: Matthews and Wills.

She smirked sat there, not worried at all. She'd admit, she was more than a bit surprised when the trio had broken into her bedroom as she returned Miles into his tank. That was as far as the surprise went though. After that the scenario had played out in the standard way. Well…as standard as anything could be when a Holmes was involved.

They had made a grab for her and she, in quick thinking, had taken her wheelie desk chair and chucked it in the middle of their path. She had proceeded to jump over the chair, through the gap in the men the obstruction had created, successfully bolting into the hallway beyond her bedroom door.

After curses the men had followed, guns at the ready. Wills had rammed into her, crushing her between his heavy set body and the banister in the hall way. She had been winded and the force of the impact had caused one of the banisters thin supporting wooden beams to crack, loosening it from the structure.

Wills had pulled away from her and she had grabbed the beam, using the full force of a twisting kick she delivered to the man's stomach to pull the beam from the banister entirely. She was sure Mrs Hudson would understand. With Wills momentarily doubled over she had whacked Matthews full in the face with the wooden object, like a baseball player whacking the ball clean across the field. She had been pleased at the consequential sound of his nose bone potentially breaking, blood spurted down his face.

Neilson had been the only one not distracted by pain as she had made her way down the remainder of the hall – backwards – so she could continue downstairs to the main flat.

"This was all very sudden, Mr Neilson. Very improper of you to drop by uninvited. Can I ask what you are doing here, sir?"

"Why, Miss Holmes," he had replied as he followed her whilst she had walked backwards down the stairs, Wills and Matthews had returned to his side, "we believe you have something we want."

"Oh?" She had played clueless. They were of course referring to Irene's phone which, until about ten minutes prior, had been in the pocket of Sherlock's second best dressing gown in the flat. "And what might that be, gentlemen?"

She had moved the phone however and it was concealed very tightly and securely between her leg and the ultra-tight skinny jeans she was wearing. The bulge it produced was conveniently hidden by the calf-length boots she had opted to wear today.

"Oh, I think you know the answer to that, Miss Holmes." Neilson had replied, with nowhere to run but down and no room for her to lash out with her beam the American had made a successful grab for her.

Neilson had grunted as she had thrashed in his grip, Matthews had ripped the beam from her clutches and thrown in down the stairs behind her. Neilson had twisted on the stairs as Scarlett had continued to struggle so she was between the three men. Matthews had made sure to keep his pistol with its giant silencer on it, trained on her as Wills had gripped her legs tightly. Neilson had clutched at her torso, dragging her down the stairs to the apartment.

She still had refused to cease fighting, she had taken her fingers and, clutching Neilson's bold head had dug her nails right into his exposed scalp, dragging them deeply and slowly across his skin. He had screamed and dropped her by this point they had been by the flat's door. As Neilson had staggered back yelling she had kicked upwards, crunching Wills' already bruising nose. He too screamed as Matthews shot at her whilst she had ran into the apartment. One on the bullets had grazed the top of her shoulder, ripping the top she was wearing before joining its fellows in embedding itself into the lower part of the wall in front of her. It had been Matthews who had finally managed to elbow her in the face, disorientating her enough to bind her hands behind her back with duct tape – _Original – _and place her hostage on the chair in which she found herself currently located. Neilson had honoured her with a few more rounds of fists to the face for which, as her face pulsed and ached, she was a tab angry about receiving.

She was pleased with the amount of damage she managed to inflict on her assailants as Neilson held his pistol just as angrily to her head, though. Hopefully, (if Sherlock allowed them to return to America) they would all always remember the young English lady whom had successfully dealt them lasting pain.

Scarlett heard Sherlock climb up the last remaining few stairs to reach the flat. She felt the split in her bloody lip widen as she smiled and wished the men, "Good luck."

The door to the flat opened a few seconds later to reveal her uncle, "Sherlock." She greeted with casual steadiness as he surveyed the scene laid out before him.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes." Neilson got straight to the point.

"Then you should just ask for it." Sherlock replied logically as he stepped toward her offering her his right hand.

She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders to show that her hands were tied – quite literally. "Sorry, Sherlock…" She told him, in mock apology.

"I've asked this one. And yet despite her presence at Miss Adler's house she claimed she doesn't know anything." The American filled Sherlock in.

Sherlock's gaze raised a little and he spotted that her top had been torn in several places throughout the struggle and because of the bullets, which she thought would be best to tell him about later. "But you know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr. Holmes?" Neilson asked.

Sherlock looked a little higher and saw the bust lip she could feel throbbing on her face. She could also feel the skin around her eye tightening and knew it would most likely turn black. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face back slightly, inspecting the damage more closely.

Sherlock's eyes left her for a moment as he looked over her head to the other three. Wills with his evident bloody nose, Matthews hunched over still winded with bruised ribs and Neilson with his bleeding scratch marks. His eyes flicked across to Neilson's right hand holding the pistol. He was wearing a silver ring on the third finger of his right hand. Sherlock stared at Neilson for a second and Scarlett caught a look on his face, dark and foreboding.

After a couple of more seconds surveying Neilson, Sherlock pulled away from her. "First, get rid of your boys." Sherlock told them as he stepped right back.

"Why?" Neilson asked, as though there was an issue.

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room." Sherlock commented idly.

Neilson hesitated for a moment, then spoke to his colleagues. "You two, go to the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away." Sherlock looked back at Neilson. "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work." He clicked the 'k' of 'work' loudly.

Wills and Matthews left the room and headed down the stairs but not before she spoke to them. "Nice to see you again. We should do it again sometime." She gave them a big false smile, Wills in particular looked hacked off as they both proceeded to stalk out of the room.

"Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me." Sherlock said after he smirked at Scarlett's words to the two men.

"So you can point a gun at me?" Neilson asked with scepticism.

Sherlock stepped back and spread his arms to either side, "I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?" The American replied with fake politeness.

"Oh," Sherlock nodded, "I insist."

Neilson came around from behind Scarlett and walked over to Sherlock. He began to pat Sherlock's breast pocket and flicked his coat open. Sherlock, for his part, stood there meekly with his arms spread. Neilson then proceeded around behind him still patting to check for any hidden weapons he may have been hiding up his back.

She watched, slightly amused as Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically at her. He covertly started to bend his right arm towards himself. Fast as lightening he whipped out a sanitizer spray can from within the depths of his coat, twisted around and sprayed the contents directly into Neilson's eyes.

Neilson – understandably – screamed as Sherlock reared back and savagely head butted the American man in the face. Neilson fell back over the coffee table, unconscious, as Sherlock flipped the can into the air triumphantly.

"Moron." He concluded as he slammed the can onto the table. He then hurried over to her dropping to his knees in front of her. They both struggled for a moment, trying to get her hands unbound from behind her back.

When she was finally free Scarlett rubbed her wrists to restart her circulation. "Thanks, Sherlock."

She met his eyes as he pulled her chin up, he ran his gloved fingers over a couple of the cuts on her face, "You're all right now, you're all right."

She was quite shocked at his action, was he trying to reassure her or himself? "Of course I am." She replied with a nod and a comforting smile.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder towards Neilson's prone body. She noticed his expression still promised murder.

Together they hauled Neilson onto the chair that he had kept Scarlett in, bounding both his hands and ankles. She kept an eye on the man as Sherlock rushed down the stairs with a note he had just written, only to return minutes later.

"Mrs Hudson is alright. She wasn't even aware you'd been attacked. I told her not to worry, although of course she will. People always do." Sherlock spoke to her as he re-entered the flat.

"Good, I'll go and see her in a bit." Scarlett nodded, keeping a steady eye on Neilson as he began to stir. "I'll pay to have the banister upstairs fixed." She said, suddenly remembering that she had in fact intentionally damaged the property as she settled more comfortably on the settee.

Sherlock walked forward, retrieved Neilson's fallen gun and then sat in the chair next to the settee, pointing the device at a moaning Neilson. "Yes, I saw the beam. You broke it clean away from the banister."

"They were attacking me. I had to do something, I wasn't about to let them beat me up."

"So you started whacking them with a banister beam?" Still pointing the gun at Neilson he looked at her sideways as he got out his phone, presumably to call the police.

Scarlett shrugged casually, "As well as other things…"

They both heard rushing up the stairs and, moments later, they were joined by John bursting into the room.

"What's going on?" He asked, not yet clocking Neilson. He turned, following their line of sight to behold a bloody and bruised Neilson, sagged in the chair near the fireplace. "Jeez. What the hell is happening?"

"Scarlett's been attacked by an American. I'm restoring balance to the universe." Was all Sherlock had to say.

John immediately hurried over to sit down next to her, taking in the visible damage. "Oh, Scarlett, my God. Are you all right?" He glared at Neilson as he put his arm around her shoulders, "Jesus, what have they done to you?"

"Nothing I didn't do in return, John. I'm fine." She reassured John as he kept his arms around her.

He pulled her closer, "You can't be alright after that." John insisted, she was about to say something again when Sherlock got to his feet, still holding the phone to his ear, aiming Neilson's own gun at him.

"Downstairs." Sherlock spoke to John, "Take her downstairs and look after her."

John got up and held out his hand which she kindly declined, "Come on." He said gently, "I'll have a look at that." He was referring to her facial injuries.

"I'm seriously okay." She said once again but she relented and went to leave the room, throwing Neilson one more dirty look before doing so.

She wasn't stupid, she knew Sherlock wanted to deal with Neilson himself and he didn't want her to see. Further proof, to her at least, that he wasn't as much of a sociopath as he liked to make out.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" She heard the doctor ask before she started her descent down the stairs. She didn't catch Sherlock's answer.

John shepherded her into Mrs Hudson's kitchen to see to her cuts as the lady herself came into the room. "Oh, Scarlett dear. What's happened to you?"

If John hadn't have been dabbing her cuts in peroxide at that moment she was sure the kindly landlady would have squeezed her to within an inch of her life.

"Nothing to worry about Mrs H." She said with confidence as John kept dabbing away "Although…during the fight I broke the banister in the corridor leading from my bedroom." She told the older lady sheepishly.

"Oh, dear, that's hardly a concern. I'm just glad you're alright." She added as Scarlett cringed, "Though it looks like that stings."

Scarlett opened her mouth to answer when there was an almighty crash from outside the kitchen window. They all peered out and saw Neilson spread-eagled out on the stony floor, resting rather uncomfortably on a couple of green bins.

"Did Sherlock just…?" John trailed off.

"Throw Neilson out of the flat window? Yeah." Scarlett finished his question.

"Ooh, and right on my bins, too."

There was an agonised groan from outside which they all ignored.

An ambulance arrived sometime later and picked up Neilson. Lestrade had come to ask Scarlett questions and she gladly recounted her tale. She managed to give full descriptions of Wills and Matthews as well as give precise recall in the damage she had been able to inflict on each man.

"Can I take a look at the damage upstairs?" She nodded and let the Inspector leave the kitchen to go and take a look.

He returned just as Mrs Hudson placed a cup of tea in front of her, "Blimey, you really did defend yourself with a banister beam."

"I really don't know why that's surprising." She said with a shrug. Lestrade looked at her in astonishment as he blew out air from his cheeks before bidding them all good night. He left the kitchen to join Sherlock, who had stayed outside.

They heard the ambulance siren start up as it pulled away from the flat. Sherlock returned through the back door a moment later, wiping his feet on the doormat.

John chose that moment to address Sherlock about her welfare – a subject she had been dodging with the doctor since they had entered the kitchen. "I was thinking, it'd be best if she stayed in our flat tonight."

"Not happening." Scarlett protested as she drank her tea, it burned as it slid down her throat, just the way she liked it.

"Of course – " Sherlock stared to say. She turned in her seat to stare at him, shooting daggers as he removed a mince pie from the fridge.

"No."

"–but she's fine." Sherlock finished as he gave her a look that clearly said 'Don't be stupid.'

"No, she's not. She's been attacked." The doctor insisted.

"So have three American's." She countered with a shrug and John looked at her in disbelieving. He went to open his mouth again and she shot him down instantly, knowing what he was going to suggest. "I'm not leaving Baker Street, John. Besides where would I go? To Mycroft? No thanks."

Sherlock kicked Mrs Hudson's fridge shut with his foot, applying more force than necessary. She smirked at an amused Mrs Hudson, obviously Sherlock was pulling a sour face at the very idea of her departure.

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock told John and she could hear the distaste in his voice.

"Sherlock, she was _attacked _by American's and all because of some stupid camera phone." He sighed before he finally asked in realisation, "Where is it anyway."

"In the safest place I know." Sherlock answered.

Scarlett bent down, wiggling her foot from her boot so she could get the phone from between her jeans and leg. Having retrieved the device she sat back up and passed it to her uncle.

"You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown. Good thing I took it with me when I left the room." She laughed slightly. "They went on a rampage looking for it."

Sherlock tossed it into the air before he put it into his coat pocket, "Thank you." He looked at the Doctor, "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on me?!" John cried in surprise.

"Scarlett leave Baker Street?" He asked and she was shocked when she felt his arm go around her shoulders, pulling her to him protectively. "England would fall." He finished sternly.

She laughed at his antics and briefly held his hand to her shoulder. He chuckled slightly as she replied, "Oh yeah, absolute chaos." She caught Mrs Hudson and John smiling at them both.

She re-entered the living room of their flat a few hours later after tidying her room after the scuffle. She had obviously walked into a conversation between Sherlock and John, she remained quiet as she crossed the room and took her normal chair.

"So, she's alive then. How are we feeling about that?"

_She? _

…_Irene Adler._

Scarlett pondered this for a moment and concluded she was right. There was only one woman John could be referring too. She wondered just what had gone on when Sherlock had evidently left the flat to follow John. There was no denying that that was what he had done. She shook her head slightly at how protective – _or was it possessive?_ – The sociopath could be of those closest to him.

In the distance, Big Ben began to toll the hour. Sherlock pulled in a sharp breath, "Happy New Year, to you both."

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" John asked, not returning the phrase.

Sherlock turned but not meeting John's eyes, he picked up his bow and flipped it in the air before starting to play "Auld Lang Syne", looking at John pointedly. John got the message and sat down in his chair as Sherlock turned back to the window and continued to play.

-Break Line – Break Line – Break Line-

Months passed, they carried on like normal, solving cases that sprung up. Scarlett found herself taking on more and more cases independently, although the clients – at her request – were always kept in the dark about the fact that she was the one handling the issue. This was owed to the fact that she didn't feel confident enough that they would trust her one-hundred percent, as they would Sherlock.

Sherlock kept himself busy, although she noticed even though he had returned back to his normal state he still obsessed over Irene. He took her phone out of the safety box from the bank on the Strand as often as he could. She knew he was trying his hardest to crack the passcode to gain entry.

He had come back in a considerably bitter mood one day after a session at Bart's, revealing to her that he had attempted to gain access once more. He had failed and had just two attempts remaining at unlocking the device. He also informed her, as she finally ceased her violin playing, that an X-ray of the phone he had taken had found several small bombs or acid packs stuck to the battery, meaning forced entry to the device would destroy the hard drive.

Not for the first time Scarlett found herself admiring Irene's thoroughness.

That morning she and Sherlock were returning from a trip to Scotland Yard. Scarlett, for her part had asked Lestrade for more cold case files. She had no clients that week and she was getting irritated from the lack of mental stimulation.

Sherlock was in a pensive state, she felt the irritation and tension rolling off of him in waves. From the outside she could see no difference but she knew this was just the way he was. He wouldn't talk to her about, she wouldn't ask. As much as it pained her it was sometimes better that way. Confirmation of Sherlock's mood had manifested when, on the way back to the flat, they had stopped off at the bank on the Strand, to once again take Irene's phone from its safety box.

The cab pulled over and they both exited outside, greeting their Baker Street home. Sherlock paid as she went and opened the front door, calling to Mrs Hudson as she continued up the stairs to the flat. The door was locked so she knew John was out, she vaguely remembered him mentioning grocery's that morning. She wasn't too sure though, she had been focusing on a new experiment involving Miles and attempting to increase his velocity, namely by placing him on a motorised to car she had bought.

_Okay, so she hadn't been experimenting. Messing around. She had been so bored, though…_

She walked straight into the living room, dropping the box of case files she had been carrying on the table in the middle of the room. She flopped down onto her usual seat, watching Sherlock as he came to join her in the living room. As he crossed the threshold however he stopped abruptly outside the kitchen door. He sniffed deeply. Taking a couple more deep breaths, he turned and looked into the kitchen. Then – ignoring her as she said his name - Sherlock walked across to the window and checked it.

"It's open…" he said to her as she joined him, curious to see why he was acting oddly.

_But then, what was normal behaviour when it came to Sherlock?_

"It shouldn't be, you saw me shut it before we left." She replied.

He turned and sniffed again, pushing her gently out of the way before he started to walk slowly towards his bedroom. Downstairs the door slammed, signalling the return of John. She followed Sherlock across the room without a word. They reached his room, he pushed the door open just as John entered into the kitchen with bags of shopping. Together Sherlock and Scarlett stepped into the room, staring at the person nestled under Sherlock's bed sheets.

"Sherlock..." John began to talk but Sherlock cut across him.

"We have a client."

"What, in your bedroom?!" John said, looking at them both stood in view of the doorway. He walked along the passage, into the bedroom, his jaw dropped as he saw the bed, "Ohhh."

Irene – fully clothed – was asleep in her Uncle's bed.

They all sat in the living room a little while later. Scarlett had been the one to wake Irene, seeing as the boys were unable to function enough to walk forward and tap her. Whilst they had all been out Irene, unnoticed by anybody, had gotten into their flat, showered, dressed using amongst other things, one of Sherlock's dressing gowns and proceeded to fall asleep in his bed.

_Huh… Impressive…_

"So who's after you?" Sherlock questioned, interrupting her train of thought.

Irene replied casually with a slight shrug, "People who want to kill me."

"Who's that?" Sherlock pressed.

"Killers." She said, obviously not wanting to be helpful.

"It _would_ help if you were a tiny bit more _specific_," said John.

"So," Scarlett said, picking up the slack in communication, "you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them."

Irene looked at her nodding, her damp loose curls swinging slightly, "It worked for a while."

"Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me," Sherlock summarised.

"Oh, I knew you'd keep my secret," replied Irene with a pout.

"You couldn't," Sherlock countered.

With a smirk Irene leant forward in her seat, "But you did, didn't you?" She leant back again, returning to her agenda, "Where's my camera phone?"

"It's not here. We're not stupid," John smirked, arms crossed.

"Then what have you done with it?" Irene asked, looking briefly between the three of them before saying, "If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you."

"If they've been watching us, they'll know that Sherlock took a safety deposit box out at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." Scarlett answered.

Irene focused on her, "Well, I need it."

Scarlett nodded as John said, "Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" He looked around to Sherlock, inspired, "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart's; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

Scarlett smiled proudly up at him as Sherlock considered the proposal, "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions."

"Thank you." John replied, clearly pleased with himself. He picked up his phone, "So, why don't... Oh, for..." Sherlock pulled out what John and Irene thought was the real camera phone.

Scarlett smirked as Irene stood expectantly whilst Sherlock looked at the phone closely, "So what do you keep on here – in general, I mean?" he queried.

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful," Irene answered, acting casual.

"What, for blackmail?" John asked.

Scarlett shook her head repeating something she had heard Irene say back in her house, "'Not for blackmail, just for insurance…'"

Irene nodded at her, raising an eyebrow, "I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be."

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock questioned her, still observing the phone in his hands, but now more in a taunting gesture than anything else.

"I told you – I misbehave," Irene replied suggestively.

"But you've acquired something that's more danger than protection," Sherlock told her, "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, but I don't understand it."

"I assumed. Show me."

Irene held out her hand for the phone. Sherlock held it up out of her reach saying to her, "The passcode."

Irene continued to hold her hand out, eventually Sherlock sat forward and handed her the device. Activating it and holding it so they couldn't see the screen or the keypad, she typed in four characters. Scarlett smirked again as the phone beeped warningly at The Woman.

With an air of confusion Irene said, "It's not working."

Sherlock stood up and took the phone from her, "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers: one-zero-five-eight."

Scarlett, taking her cue, took out Irene's real phone from behind the cushion on her seat. She pushed the unlock button and quickly typed in the four digit number with a few brushes of her thumbs. Scarlett's feeling of smugness slipped and her smirk was replaced with a look of disbelieving as the phone beeped warningly at her.

"I told you that camera phone was my life," Irene said as Scarlett stared at the dominatrix, slightly awestruck. "I know when it's in my hand."

"You're very good, Miss Adler." She commented as Irene smiled and took her phone from her.

"You're not so bad," she said to her as Scarlett caught Sherlock staring at Irene's back, clearly at a loss.

Irene straightened up, turned and locked eyes intensely with Sherlock in what Scarlett could only deem as eye-sex.

"Hamish," John said, picking up on the thick atmosphere.

It worked and Sherlock and Irene broke eye contact as they all looked at him, "John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names."

Sherlock frowned in confusion as Irene spoke, "There was a man – an MOD official. I knew what he liked."

She walked a short distance away from them so they couldn't see her screen or keypad, she typed in her real passcode and called up a photo.

"One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn't know it, but I photographed it," she handed the phone to Sherlock, "He was a bit tied up at the time. It's a bit small on that screen – can you read it?"

Sherlock sat down on the other side of the table to John and narrowed his eyes at the photograph, "Yes."

"A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn't figure it out."

What Scarlett observed next was insane owing to the time frame it was achieved in.

Sherlock leant forward, concentrating on the screen as Irene asked, "What can you do, Mr. Holmes?" She leant over his shoulder, "Go on. Impress a girl."

There was less than a six second gap in which Irene went to kiss Sherlock, John placed his cup he was drinking out of back on its coaster and Scarlett went to stand up.

"There's a margin for error," he began quickly," but I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds."

He looked at John's blank face in front of him, then glanced round at Scarlett who hasn't even fully straightened up yet, Irene for her part was smirking.

"Oh, come on. It's not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet. Look: there's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'; no letters past 'K' – the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number – zero zero seven – that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

He was now stood up, throwing the phone at Scarlett she caught it to double check. She scanned the small screen reading the string of code in the photographed email:

4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K

"Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

Sherlock was of course right, she just wished he hadn't solved it so quickly. There was no doubt he was falling for Irene, as much as she admired The Woman there was something wrong with the current situation, she just couldn't place it. She faked her death, came back, was asking for his help, fair enough he had her phone but it felt all too…damsel in distress…she wasn't like that…

She sighed, started to twist the phone in her hand, "You're right, of course…"

"Sherlock," Irene said, standing close, looking up at him, "I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice."

The two of them stare at each other for a long moment before Sherlock speaks again.

Eyes still locked on Irene Sherlock asked, "John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?"

"Uh-huh." John stuttered, "I'm on it, yeah." He clearing his throat, started to type on his laptop. Sherlock and Irene continued to stare at each other.

"I've never begged for mercy in my life."

"Twice."

John, still looking at the screen, said, "Uh, yeah, you're right. Uh, flight double oh seven."

Scarlett turned on John, "What did you say?"

"Sherlock's right."

"No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?"

"Double oh seven. Flight double oh seven."

"Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven..."

Scarlett chanted it over and over, beginning to pace.

"…something...something connected to double oh seven...What?"

Her eyes snapped open as she began to remember and she turned, looking at the living room door, envisioning Mycroft standing there, talking on his phone.

"'Bond Air is go. That's decided, check with the Coventry lot.'"

_The Coventry conundrum – The World War II story…_

A couple of hours later Scarlett, at Mycroft's request, was on her way to meet him. Very rarely did she opt to meet with Mycroft without Sherlock but on the phone the man had sounded uncharacteristically defeated.

Sherlock was busying himself with the company of Irene so he didn't notice her slip away, she doubted she would be missed regardless. The cab pulled up outside the building and she promptly exited. Once inside she was guided to his office, she was left to knock on his office door and enter on her own.

She saw Mycroft sat at his desk, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, and head in his hands. The very picture of defeat. It was an emotional state that didn't suit her uncle, not one bit.

Sherlock sat in his armchair gently plucking the strings of his violin. In his mind he could still hear Mycroft's phone call. Scarlett had been right.

"'Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot.'"

Sherlock finally roused a little and looked up, "Coventry."

Irene, still wearing his dressing gown, hair still down, was curled up in John's chair watching him closely, "I've never been. Is it nice?"

"Where's John? Scarlett?"

"They both went out separately a couple of hours ago."

"I was just talking to her..."

Irene smiled at him, "She said you do that. What's Coventry got to do with anything?"

"Mycroft...?"

He exhaled deeply, looking up at her slowly, "Have a seat."

She complied, as much as he could annoy her Scarlett did respect Mycroft, she knew when to mess with him and when to listen.

"Sherlock…he's made a grave error in judgement. A few house ago I received a message. Tell me, Scarlett: how long did it take him to decipher that email Adler gave him?"

She closed her eyes in realisation, she had known there was something odd about The Woman's return, if only she knew just how bad it was.

Leaning forward in John's chair Irene asked him, "Have you ever had anyone?"

He frowned at her, "Sorry?"

"And when I say 'had', I'm being indelicate."

"I don't understand…"

"Well, I'll be delicate then."

He observed her get up from the chair, walking over she kneeled in front of him, putting her left hand on top of his right hand and curling her fingers around it.

"Less than ten seconds, why?"

This seemed to deflate him – if possible – even more, he rubbed his eyes, leaning back in his chair before finally making eye contact with her, "You know the story of the Coventry conundrum?"

She nodded, "Allies during the second World War knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they'd broken the German code but they didn't want the Germans to know that they'd broken the code, so they let it happen anyway."

"We were dealing with the same situation with a terrorist cell – we broke their code, they planned to bomb a flight tonight. Steps were put in place – a flight of the dead. They know now, though. The email Sherlock decrypted for Alder was sent to the terrorist cells – they know we broke the code. It was all pointless."

"Let's have dinner," an orange glow cast her shadow on the back wall, softening her features.

"Why?"

"Might be hungry."

"I'm not."

"Good."

Hesitantly, Sherlock sat forward a little, slowly turning his right hand over he curled his own fingers around her wrist, "Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?"

Slowly Irene began to lean forward, her gaze fixed on his lips, "Oh, Mr. Holmes..."

Sherlock stroked his fingers gently across the underside of her wrist, taking her pulse.

"...if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would you have dinner with me?"

His name was called from the bottom of the stairs, "Sherlock!"

She pulled away from him, "Too late."

"That's not the end of the world; that's Mrs Hudson."

Irene stood up, walking away from him as Mrs Hudson came in with Plummer – the civil servant whom had collected him to take him to the Palace.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, "Have you come to take me away again?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock looked away, uninterested, "Well, I decline."

Plummer took an envelope from his jacket, offered it to him, "No, Mr. Holmes, I don't think you do."

Sherlock snatched it from him and opened it. Inside was a Business Class boarding pass for Flyaway Airways in his name for flight number 007 to Baltimore, scheduled to leave at 18.30pm.

"She isn't in direct contact with terrorists, how did the information get to them?"

"She's working with Moriarty, Scarlett."

She drew in a sharp breath, angry that Sherlock had played right into Adler and Moriarty's hands, "Now what?"

He grimaced, "We confront her…with Sherlock present…"

* * *

><p><strong>Hi Guys *Waves Manically*<strong>

**How have you been? For those of you that wished me well I'd like to say that I'm back on form, yay! ****Anyway! One more 'Scandal in Belgravia' to go! Woohoo!**

**Thank you to all of you that have favourited, followed and or commented, it means a lot! ****I hope you like this one, I had fun writing it, especially the end. I have to write an essay for the 5th of December so I'm taking a break from fanfic writing until it's done, BUT... then I'm off for a month for Christmas, so I hope to update regularly!**

**I only own Scarlett!**

**See you soon,**

**HH :)**


	4. A Scandal in Belgravia: Part Four

A Scandal in Belgravia: Part Four

_Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, "Have you come to take me away again?"_

"_Yes, Mr. Holmes."_

_Sherlock looked away, uninterested, "Well, I decline."_

_Plummer took an envelope from his jacket, offered it to him, "No, Mr. Holmes, I don't think you do."_

_Sherlock snatched it from him and opened it. Inside was a Business Class boarding pass for Flyaway Airways in his name for flight number 007 to Baltimore, scheduled to leave at 18.30pm._

"_She isn't in direct contact with terrorists, how did the information get to them?"_

"_She's working with Moriarty, Scarlett."_

_She drew in a sharp breath, angry that Sherlock had played right into Adler and Moriarty's hands, "Now what?"_

_He grimaced, "We confront her…with Sherlock present…"_

* * *

><p>The car slowed down as it glided across the airstrip, Scarlett beheld the plan that would have been leaving in a while if the government's plan hadn't have failed. She cringed, knowing full well that it was all Sherlock's doing. Hopefully he wouldn't get punished.<p>

Mycroft was sat next to her in the car, either of them talked, each contemplating what was going to happen.

_Sherlock loves Irene… she just had to be connected to Moriarty in some way. _

She thought back to when Sherlock, John and she were being held by the Irishman in the pool; was it Irene that had rung him, saving their lives? If it had been, she couldn't have known this.

She sighed as the car came to a stop, not wanting to keep thinking about it. She got out and was hit by the cold January air. He followed Mycroft up the stairs into the plane, passing Archer, 'The Main American' she winked at him as she passed. He only scowled.

She did as she was told and stood in the shadows of the plane's interior, waiting for Sherlock to arrive. She watched him approach and look at each body as he passed into a new isle, getting closer and closer. Frowning, he walked forward and looked more closely at the nearest passenger. An overhead light showed more clearly the faces of two men sitting beside each other and she saw comprehension dawn on Sherlock's face.

They were dead.

Although they weren't yet showing any signs of decomposition, their skin was very grey, they'd been dead for ages. She'd pieced it all together whilst she had waited for him. Some of these people had even been reported missing by some of their clients.

_How could they have been so blind?_

As he straightens up, realising that everyone on board the plane must be in the same condition, his brother spoke from the other end of the section, "The Coventry conundrum," Sherlock turned as Mycroft pushed back the curtain at the front of the plane allowing he and Scarlett to step through. For the first part of the ensuing conversation he talked softly, almost as if out of respect for the dead bodies in front of him, "What do you think of my solution?"

Sherlock gazed around the cabin, still taking it all in as Mycroft spoke on, "The flight of the dead."

"The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies," Scarlett said, sad at what he was about to be put through.

"Neat, don't you think?"

Sherlock smiled humourlessly after doing a double-take a Scarlett's forlorn expression. "You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern?"

Scarlett again thought of the clients that they had turned away, the plane crash in Germany that they had only spent brief time on, "How's the plane going to fly?" He answered himself immediately, "Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It doesn't fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished."

"Your MOD man."

"That's all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special."

Scarlett couldn't look at either of them as Sherlock replied, "Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully."

Mycroft became loud, furious, "I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I'm talking about you." Sherlock frowned, genuinely confused, whilst Mycroft continued in a softer tone, "The damsel in distress," he smiled ironically, "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle..." his voice dropped to a whisper, "...and watch him dance."

"Don't be absurd."

"Absurd? How quickly did he decipher that email for her, Scarlett? Was it the full minute, or was he really eager to impress?" Scarlett again looked at neither of them, focusing on a spot just passed Sherlock's shoulder, unable to answer.

That's when she heard the voice of the woman that had manipulated and effectively broken Sherlock, even if he wouldn't admit it, "I think it was less than five seconds."

Sherlock spun around to see Irene standing at the end of the cabin, dressed beautifully, fully made up and with her hair perfectly coiffured. This was The Woman at her immaculate best.

Mycroft's next words were spoken ruefully to her guardian, "I drove you into her path," he paused momentarily, "I'm sorry," he lowered his eyes, "I didn't know."

Sherlock was still looking at Irene as she walked towards him, "Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk."

"So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on."

Irene walked right passed him, "Not you, Junior. You're done now."

As she continued down the aisle towards Scarlett and Mycroft Scarlett saw red. Anger was an emotion she very rarely resorted too. Even when she argued with Sherlock, disagreed with Mycroft she never got angry at them. This woman, though, this cow had been working with _him. _Moriarty. That made her blood boil, and the way she had just thrown Sherlock aside then had been the final straw. Scarlett was a couple of aisle ahead of Mycroft and before she knew what she was doing she was stood in front of Irene, blocking her path. The skin of her hand burned as it made contact with Irene's perfectly painted face. The Woman staggered slightly, looked shocked, but Scarlett wasn't done.

"I want you to know something, Adler. Cross my father again and just remember, Jim Moriarty's got a sister who can be just as psychotic and deadly."

She stormed up the aisle, pushing passed Sherlock to get to the exit, kicking the door open when she got there, leaving three very stunned adults in her wake.

Sometime later Mycroft had brought them all in to his house where they were sitting in his office. Mycroft had to order another car because he didn't feel happy with her and Alder being within easy grabbing distance of each other. She had taken the second car journey on her own, refusing Sherlock's company. She was determined when she arrived at Mycroft's she was going to be calmer than she had been than back on the plane. Once she had arrived Mycroft had tried to convince her to stay out of the office but she refused, feeling she had to keep an eye on Adler.

So whilst Mycroft and Adler sat opposite each other at the end of his grand dining table, Sherlock and she were sat in the armchairs near the fireplace a few yards away, half turned away from the pair of them. Her body was a tight coil all while Adler and Mycroft were negotiating. Or rather all the while Adler was metaphorically whipping him. She kept a close eye on Sherlock, whose body was as equally tight and coiled. He hadn't relaxed his fisted hands since she had seen him leave the escort car.

There is no aggression or threat in Mycroft's voice as he spoke, pointing to the Adler's phone on the table, "We have people who can get into this."

"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months."

Scarlett's eyes began to sting as she felt her uncle's pain as he closed his eyes, "Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone."

The reply was flat, "There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive. Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

Mycroft lowers his head into his hand in despair that Scarlett could also feel and she looked over to see Mycroft desperately trying to figure something out.

"Explosive," Irene looked at Mycroft, "It's more me."

Lifting his head and Mycroft looked at her again, "Some data is always recoverable."

"Fine, take that risk?"

"You have a passcode to open this," Mycroft tried again, "I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

"These extractor's, does Scarlett happen to be one? Because I'm telling you, put her under the right pressure and that girl could very well prove to be lethal," she and Adler locked eyes, "I thought I had you sussed girly, but you're everything _he_ said you'd be." Adler smirked before continuing calmly, "And anyway, Sherlock?"

"There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt."

"He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash – in fact, I might."

"We destroy this, then. No-one has the information," Mycroft concluded.

"Fine. Good idea...unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn."

"Are there?"

"Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore." Scarlett watched as Alder reached into her handbag on the table in front of her and take out an envelope which she pushed across the table to Mycroft. "A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they're granted."

Mycroft took the sheet of paper from the envelope and started to unfold it, "I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation – but then I'd be lying."

He raised his eyebrows in amazement as he read through the demands she had listed, "I imagine you'd like to sleep on it."

Still reading Mycroft replied almost tonelessly, "Thank you, yes."

"Too bad," He looked up at her. In his armchair, Sherlock snorted in almost silent amusement, "Off you pop and talk to people."

Sighing, Mycroft sunk back in his chair, "You've been very...thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help," she looked across to Sherlock and her, "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Sherlock raises his head but Scarlett wasn't surprised, the minute she had found out Moriarty had been involved she had been expecting something from him, he did so like to play games.

"Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention..." his voice became more ominous, "...which I'm sure can be arranged."

Scarlett looked to Sherlock as he shifted slightly, his gaze had begun to sharpen as Irene stood up and walked round the table to sit on its edge nearer Mycroft, "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D'you know what he calls you?" softly she continued, "The Ice Man..." she looked across to Sherlock, "...and the Virgin."

Sherlock's eyes were on the move, though it wasn't not yet clear to her whether it was in reaction to what Irene was saying or whether he was working something out, "Add in the fact that Miss. Violetta Moriarty just happens to be a big pressure for you both… Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that's my kind of man."

Sherlock closed his eyes, sighing softly, whilst Scarlett tried to ignore her original name, "And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played," Mycroft congratulated.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open again. He'd definitely worked something out. Mycroft stood and appeared to bow slightly to Irene. He turned away, about to go and begin meeting her demands. Smiling in satisfaction, she stood up, confident that she has won.

"No."

They all turn to Sherlock.

Adler almost laughed, "Sorry?"

Sherlock turned his head towards her, "I said no. Very, very close, but no." He stood too and started to walk towards her. "You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

"No such thing as too much," Adler pouted.

Walking closer to her and looking down he looked into her face he said, "Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side." He bared his teeth slightly as he finished the sentence.

"Sentiment?" Adler scoffed, "What are you talking about?"

"You."

Adler smiled calmly, "Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?"

Scarlett smirked as he stepped even closer to her, their bodies almost touching, "No."

He reached out and slowly wrapped the fingers of his right hand around her left wrist, then leaned forward and brought his mouth close to her right ear and whispered something she and Mycroft couldn't hear.

"I imagine," Sherlock spoke out loud in a normal tone so they could hear again as he pulled away from Adler, "John Watson thinks love's a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive." He turned and walked a few paces away from her. She followed behind him until he turned and faced her again, "When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this..." he tosses the phone into the air and catches it again, "...this is far more intimate."

He pulled up the security lock with its 'I AM - LOCKED' screen, "This is your heart..." without breaking his gaze into her eyes, he punches in the first of the four characters with his thumb, "…and you should never let it rule your head."

She stared at him, trying to stay calm but Scarlett smirked as the panic began to show behind her eyes, "You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you've worked for..." He punched in the second character, his eyes still locked on hers, "...but you just couldn't resist it, could you?"

Her breathing became heavier. Sherlock smiled briefly and triumphantly, "I've always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage..." he hit the third character, still gazing at her, "Thank you for the final proof."

Before he can type in the fourth character, she seized his hand and gazed up at him intensely, "Everything I said," she spoke softly, "it's not real. I was just playing the game."

"I know," gently pulling his hand free, he typed in the final character, "And this is just losing."

Slowly he turned the phone towards her and shows her the screen. She looked down at it, tears spilling from her eyes as she reads the sequence which Scarlett would later find out said:

I AM

SHER

LOCKED

Adler gazed down at the screen in despair for a few seconds, then Sherlock lifted the phone away and held it out towards Mycroft, "There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight." Sherlock gestured to Scarlett to come to him so they could leave.

"I'm certain they will."

As Scarlett reach the door just behind Sherlock he said to Mycroft, "If you're feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without her protection."

Irene stared after him, her eyes wide with dread, "Are you expecting me to beg?"

"Yes," the reply was flat, calm. He stopped near the door, his face in profile to her. She stares at him in anguish for several seconds, then realised that she has no choice.

"Please," Scarlett was impressed when he didn't move, "You're right," he turned to look at her, she stared at him pleadingly, "I won't even last six months."

"Sorry about dinner." He turned and walked to the door, opening it and walking through. Scarlett nodded her farewell to Mycroft and glared at Adler one more time before leaving and despite everything the woman smiled at her.

A couple of months later Scarlett was sat in the flat whilst Sherlock worked at the table, now relocated near to the kitchen. Only once had the two of them discussed what had happened on the plane. She had openly told him that she had never felt that angry before and that in the heat of the moment she had truly believed that was what Adler deserved. She then, of course, having calmed down and become more rational realised that she had essentially threatened Adler under the Moriarty name, making her practically no better than him, resorting to violence to get her point across. This had made her panic, fearful that she was no better than him.

Sherlock had assured her though that she was better and that she should never doubt that. For even though she acted with violence she had done so for a cause which she held in very high regard. He had gotten awkward when they had reached that bit, not quite knowing what to say. She told him not to worry, that she knew that he cared in his own way and that was more than enough for her.

They would probably never have such an open discussion about the topic again, so she held his words close, desperate not to forget them, "I guess you were right. I am your father, even if a bad one at times."

"Bloody awful," they both laughed.

"But you're not an awful daughter."

It was pouring it down outside when she pulled herself back to reality, remembering that she had been charged by Mycroft to keep Sherlock working upstairs, whilst he told John the news about Adler downstairs, in Speedy's Café. She knew the woman's fate of course, she had been captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded.

She strongly dislike the woman for what she had done to Sherlock, but still, no one deserved that…

So now they were going to pretend that she was alive and well over in America in a witness protection program to spare Sherlock more pain. John entered just then and Sherlock spoke, "Clearly you've got news."

John stopped in the doorway with a plastic wallet in his hand, _her _file. Sherlock didn't lift his head, "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring."

"Hi. Er, no, it's, um..." he took a couple of steps into the kitchen, "... it's about Irene Adler."

Sherlock looked up, his face unreadable, "Oh? Something happened? Has she come back?"

"No, she's, er..." he looked to Scarlett who speered him silently on, biting her lip, "I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call."

Sherlock stood up, walked around the table towards John, "Is she back in London?"

"No. She's, er..." He gazed at the table for a long moment, then dragged in a sharp breath, raising his eyes to Sherlock's as his flatmate steps closer, frowning. "She's in America."

"America?"

"Mmm-hmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er, well, you know."

"I know what?"

"Well, you won't be able to see her again."

"Why would I want to see her again?"

Scarlett smiled, he was going to be okay, "We didn't say you did."

"That's her file?"

"Yes," John said, "I was just gonna take it back to Mycroft," he offered the wallet to Sherlock, maybe this would be closure from him, "Do you want to...?"

Sherlock say down back in front of his microscope, "No."

John looked at his friend for a long while, considering his options. Eventually he stepped forward again, "Listen, actually..."

"Oh, but I will have the camera phone, though," Sherlock held out his hand towards John, not lifting his gaze from his work.

"There's nothing on it any more. It's been stripped."

"I know, but I..." he paused for a long moment before continuing, "...I'll still have it."

"I've gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it," Sherlock kept his hand extended and his eyes fixed on the microscope. Scarlett smiled at him in a sad sort of way. "Sherlock, I have to give this to Mycroft. It's the government's now. I couldn't even give..."

"Please," he extended his hand a little further. John looked at him, wondering what to do, then finally reached into the wallet, took out the phone and laid it gently into Sherlock's hand. Sherlock closed his fingers around it, drew his hand back and put the phone into his trouser pocket before returning his hand to the microscope.

"Thank you."

"Well," John cleared his throat, lifting the wallet and looking between Sherlock and her, "I'd better take this back."

"Yes."

John turned and walked out onto the landing, then paused, wondering whether to ask the question that had come into his mind. After several seconds he turned round and came back into the kitchen. Sherlock still didn't lift his eyes from his microscope, "Did she ever text you again, after... all that?"

"Once, a few months ago."

Scarlett tensed as John asked, "What did she say?"

"'Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.'"

John looked at him thoughtfully. He paced around in front of the kitchen door for a few seconds, wondering if there was anything more he could say, then eventually turned and headed off down the stairs. As soon as he's out of sight Sherlock raised his head and gazed across the room for a moment, looking at her.

She didn't say anything and without a word himself he reached down to his own phone which was on the table and picked it up, presumably looking at all of the messages Adler sent him. He reads them for a long time. He got up and started to walk to the window, finally reaching it he lifted his head from the screen and stared out of the window into the pouring rain, thinking.

He chuckled at some memory that he didn't share and she smiled again, feeling his emotions settle. Tossing the phone in the air a couple of times before catching it she heard him chuckle again, "The Woman."

He opened the top drawer of a nearby cabinet, he put the phone into it and was about to withdraw his hand when he paused putting his fingers onto the phone again, looking at it thoughtfully, "The Woman."

He lifted his head and gazed out at the rainy city for a while, then turned and to smile at Scarlett before he walked away. She smiled back in puzzlement as he left her to wonder in silence, and not for the first time, whether he knew something she had clearly missed.

* * *

><p><strong>Hi, <strong>

**So I'm back, a month after the last update. I want to apologies, I made an error in uploading earlier, I put the first part of 'Hounds of Baskerville' up before I finished this episode. So if some of you got alerted but didn't find a chapter it was because I removed that chapter to put this one up in its place. I'll be putting Baskerville Pt 1 up in less than a week, though!**

**I'd also like to go on record and say, there really wasn't a lot I could do with Scarlett in this chapter, though I tried my best. I also hope the Sherlock/Scarlett discussion near that went down okay. In my mind because Scarlett's an Empath she can almost always tell how Sherlock's feeling and I'd like to think he rewarded her by telling her exactly what he did, just when she needed it most. That moment won't happen again between them for them for a long time, at least, not in the context it's in so next time don't worry, we'll have our favourite Sociopath back on track, or rather, off it! **

**Thanks to all of you who have asked how I'm doing as well. I'm great thank you for asking, feeling a lot better thanks, not to mention 1 of 3 of my essays are complete. Plus it's the Christmas holiday's, and I get to slack off, so yay! Please let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate it!**

**Your devoted writer,**

**HH **


	5. The Hound of Baskerville: Part One

The Hounds of Baskerville: Part One

She heard the front door slam shut and shot an amused look toward John. They heard him run up the stairs in a rush before the door to the flat was thrown open. Scarlett looked around and her eyes widen at the sight of her uncle, who was wearing black trousers and a white shirt and whose arms, chest and face were covered with blood – far too much blood for it to be his own – and who was holding a harpoon. He looked round to John, breathing heavily.

"Well, that was tedious."

"You went on the Tube like that?" said the doctor, shocked.

"None of the cabs would take me," he replied in irritation.

"Well of course none of them would take you!" Scarlett shook her head, bemused.

Later Sherlock was back, thankfully clean, in his blue dressing gown, although to her amusement he had kept hold of the harpoon. He had taken to pacing rapidly between the door and the window, looking round repeatedly between her and John as he sat in his chair flicking through the newspapers.

"Nothing?"

John shrugged, "Military coup in Uganda."

"Hmm," Sherlock brushed the issue aside.

Scarlett chuckled in amusement as she spotted something in one of the papers open on the coffee table. She picked it up and waved it at Sherlock, "Another photo of you with the, er..." He tutted at her as she smirked, flipping the page only to say, "Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle."

She watched as he visibly became more irritated, "Nothing of importance?" he slammed the end of the harpoon onto the ground and roared with rage, "Oh, God!" He looked round at John intensely, "John, I need some. Get me some."

"No."

Sherlock became insistent, "Get me some."

John became louder, "No," the doctor pointed sternly at him, "cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what."

Irritated, Sherlock leaned the harpoon against the table, "Anyway," Scarlett cut in trying to distract him, "you've paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two mile radius will sell you any."

"Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?" Sherlock snapped.

Scarlett avoided looking at John to stop herself from laughing as he cleared his throat pointedly. Sherlock glanced towards the door, "Mrs Hudson!"

He started hurling paperwork off the table as he searched desperately for what he thought he needed. Scarlett ducked as more paperwork went flying narrowly missing her head. "Look, Sherlock," she looked at him, "you're doing really well. Don't give up now."

He ignored her as he frantically continued his search. Her heart dropped as he stopped abruptly, turning to her, enthusiasm gone, eyes pained, "Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me," she faltered. Sherlock straightened up and gave her his most appealing puppy-dog eyes. Hesitating before he spoke and almost forming the word a couple of times before actually saying it he managed to say please once more.

_Maybe just the one…_

_Wait, what? Hang on…_

"What? No! Sherlock! Don't use the fact that I'm an Empath against me!"

He dropped the act, "Oh, it was worth a try," he looked around the room, then got inspired and hurled himself to the floor in front of the fireplace. Unearthing a slipper from the pile of papers in front of the unlit fire, he held it up and scrabbled about inside as Mrs Hudson arrived at the door and came in.

"Ooh-ooh!"

Sherlock was still rummaging about in the fireplace as he spoke in an almost sing-song tone, "My secret supply: what have you done with my secret supply?"

"Eh?" the Landlady sounded.

"Cigarettes!" he cried, "What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You know you never let me touch your things!" Mrs Hudson replied before looking around at the mess Sherlock had made, "Ooh, chance would be a fine thing."

Sherlock stood up and faced her, "I thought you weren't our housekeeper."

"I'm not."

Making a frustrated noise, Sherlock stomped back over to the harpoon and picked it up again. Behind him, Mrs Hudson looked down at John who did the universal mime for offering someone a drink. She looks at Sherlock again. "How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon."

"I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger," he glared out of the window, then turned back towards Mrs Hudson, aiming the harpoon at her. She flinched.

"You've been to see Mr. Chatterjee again."

"Pardon?"

Scarlett stood quickly, moving to Mrs Hudson trying to pull her away from the situation before she got hurt. Sherlock still kept talking though, pointing his harpoon more closely at her he started to speak rapidly in typical deduction fashion, "Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking."

"Sherlock..."

He ignored both her and John's warning tones, "Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don't we?" He sniffed deeply as he finally stopped aiming the harpoon at her. "Mmm: Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website – you should look it up."

Mrs Hudson grew exasperated and slightly defensive, "Please."

"I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster," he decided to adopt a south Yorkshire accent to say the town's name, "that nobody knows about."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed.

"Well, nobody except me."

Mrs Hudson grew upset, "I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't," she stormed out of the flat, slamming the living room door closed as she went. Sherlock leapt over the back of his chair from behind it, perching on the seat, wrapping his arms around his knees like a petulant child. John slammed his newspaper down as Scarlett continued to stand next to where their kindly landlady had be stood not moments before.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" demanded John.

Scarlett watched Sherlock's body language, shocked as he went as far as to start rocking back and forth in his seat, "You don't understand," he protested.

John, not picking up on his body language got stern, "Go after her and apologise."

"Apologise?" Sherlock repeated.

"Mmm-hmm," John nodded once.

Sherlock sighed, "Oh, John, I envy you so much."

John hesitated, wondering whether to rise to the bait, but eventually asked, "You envy me?"

"Your mind: it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad," he became loud, frantic as he looked at her imploringly, "I need a case!"

She matched his volume as she replied, "I know! You've only just solved one, though! By apparently using a harpoon!"

He snorted, the noise was clearly meant to convey exasperation, he jumped up in the air and then landed in the seated position on the chair, "That was this morning!" As he started drumming the fingers of both hands on the arms of his chair, stomping his feet on the floor she had to take a breath, reminding herself that he was meant to be the guardian, "When's the next one?"

She didn't say anything for a second, keeping a steady eye on him before relenting, "Nothing on the website I'm afraid. Lestrade is dry as well, nothing new at the Yard."

Sherlock gave her a sceptical look and to prove her point she picked up her tablet, abandoned on her seat, shutting down the UCAS page she'd been reading before linking to the website. He definitely didn't need to see she'd been looking at University. She scrolled rapidly with her index finger, scrolling through the comments and requests, picking one at random.

"'Dear Miss Scarlett Holmes,'" she started adopting a childish bubble gum voice, "'I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help? I'd ask Mr. Holmes, but I'm worried he wouldn't find it important.'"

John looked puzzled, "Bluebell?"

"A rabbit, apparently…" she sighed idly.

"Oh."

"Oh," she smirked, "there's more! Before Bluebell disappeared, she turned luminous..." she put on the voice again, quoting from the request, "'like a fairy' according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry..." she faltered, looking up from the screen to catch Sherlock looking at her, suddenly interested, "What?"

"What me? What you! This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

John's eyes became wide, disbelieving, "Are you serious?"

Sherlock then faced them with the ultimate ultimatum, "It's this, or Cluedo."

"Ah, no!" John protested as Scarlett snorted, locking her tablet and placing it on the side of the table, "We are never playing that again!"

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, perplexed at the rejection.

"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that's why," John retorted as he stood to stretch.

"Well, it was the only possible solution."

Scarlett and John both sat down again as the doctor said, "It's not in the rules."

Sherlock sparked again, "Then the rules are wrong!"

The ensuing argument was interrupted by their doorbell ringing. She shot back up, pointing at the door, looking a Sherlock with a grin, "Single ring."

"Maximum pressure just under the half second," Sherlock agreed as she headed for the door.

Simultaneously they all chorused, "Client."

Not long afterwards, a recording of a documentary was playing on the TV about the Moors. Sherlock – thank goodness – had taken off the dressing gown and exchanged it for a jacket and was sitting in his chair. John had relocated to the dining table chair near Sherlock's, Scarlett perched on the arm of her uncle's chair. A man, their newest client, Henry Knight, was sitting in John's chair regular chair. The documentary footage showed scenes of Dartmoor, Scarlett couldn't deny that her interest was waning.

The documentary's voiceover presenter began to speak, "Dartmoor. It's always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here – something very real?" Barbed wire appeared on screen, accompanied by 'Keep Out' signs. They could now see the same presenter walking down a narrow dirt road, "Because Dartmoor's also home to one of the government's most secret of operations..." Scarlett's eye was caught by the sign for Baskerville and her attention was instantly restored. Beside her she could feel Sherlock looking at her, registering her shift.

She shifted her eyes to Henry, who for his part, had been in a constant state of anxiety since stepping foot in the flat. The presenter continued, "The chemical and biological weapons research centre which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there've been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments: genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: are all of them still inside?" The footage switched to an indoor scene where Henry – in the video – was sitting in front of the camera talking to someone offscreen. A caption at the bottom of the screen showed him to be 'Henry Knight, Grimpen resident'.

Henry started to speak to the interviewer, "I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor." There was a cutaway to a child's drawing of a huge snarling dog with red eyes. The caption said, 'Henry's drawing (aged nine)'. "It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father."

Sighing, Sherlock picked up the remote control and switched off the footage before asking the real Henry, "What did you see?"

"Oh." Henry pointed to the television, "I ...I was just about to say."

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing."

"Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. 'Scuse me," Scarlett watched him reached into his jacket pocket, pull out a paper napkin and wipe his nose on it.

"In your own time," John reassured him, mistaking Henry's shaking fingers for anxiety and not the result of his body needing a nicotine fix.

"But quite quickly," Sherlock pressed.

Henry lowered the napkin, "Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?"

"No."

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of... bleak but beautiful."

"Mmm, not interested. Moving on."

"We used to go for walks, after my mum died," Henry said, ignoring Sherlock, much to Scarlett's amusement, "my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?" Scarlett looked down at Sherlock from her position on the arm of the chair, cursing him inwardly for his unsurprising lack of sensitivity.

"There's a place – it's... it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow," Henry said, looking slightly hurt at Sherlock's abruptness, "That's an ancient name for the Devil."

"And did you see then Devil, Henry? The night your dad died?" she asked, leaning forward, trying to figure out just what he wanted. Of course she knew what he _wanted_ but she was curious as to what Henry thought they could do to help him. His face haunted with memories, Henry looked across to her and nodded.

"Yes," his voice was just above a whisper, "It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes," she squirmed as a lump rose involuntarily up her throat as Henry became teary, "It got him, tore at him, tore him apart." She was so focused on Henry that she flinched slightly when she felt Sherlock's hand almost resting on her lower back. "I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

"Hmm," John looked across at them, "Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous: dog? Wolf?"

"Genetic experiment," Scarlett coughed, dislodging the lump in her throat.

"You're laughing at me, Miss. Holmes?"

"No. How can I when you're clearly not joking?"

Henry looked surprised as he said, "My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

"And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism," Sherlock spoke finally. In an attempt to stop Sherlock's continuing sarcasm, John leant forward to distract Henry, "Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?"

Henry sat forward still looking at Scarlett, trying to figure her out, "I'm not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes," his eyes cut to Sherlock, "since you find it all so funny." He stood up and walked around the chair, heading towards the door.

"Because of what happened last night, Henry?" she called.

Henry turned back towards them, "Why, what happened last night?" John asked.

She ignored John for the moment, focusing in on Henry's emotion. He was so emotionally invested in this monster, make believe or not, that she felt terrible for turning away a man in such a mental state, it wasn't healthy.

"How... how do you know?"

"I didn't need to know; I felt it," Henry looked at her, even more perplexed than before, not knowing of her ability to read and feel others emotions so strongly.

Thankfully, she didn't have to explain herself as Sherlock jumped in, eager to change to subject to gain something to his advantage, "I on the other hand _do know. _You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I'd be delighted."

Henry stared at him, then glanced across to John who averted his gaze and sighed. Hesitantly, Henry walked back to the chair and sat down, fishing in his jacket pocket, "How on earth did you notice all that?!"

"It's not important..." John tried to say but Sherlock was already off.

She looked too, although didn't say anything, looking at two small round white pieces of paper stuck to Henry's coat, "Punched-out holes where your ticket's been checked..."

"Not now, Sherlock," John protested.

"Oh please," he sounded like a whining child, "I've been cooped up in here for ages."

"You're just showing off, and so has Scarlett but you don't see her playing up."

"Of course. I am a show-off. That's what we do. As for Scarlett, of course she's not showing of, Henry's just about sent her into an emotional coma," he turned his attention back to Henry and the napkin that he was still holding, ignoring both John's and Henry's worried, yet quizzical looks.

"I'm fine," she replied shortly, still unable to pull any from Henry's over-whelming sense of trauma.

"You're not," was all Sherlock said, "The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

Henry half-sobbed, feeling over-awed, "How did you know it was disappointing?"

_This poor guy, he's a complete emotional wre– _

"–Stop it," Sherlock scalded her before answering Henry, "Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting's quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not that into her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your shaking fingers. I know the signs." His gaze became intense, "No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here," he glanced at his watch. "It's just after nine fifteen. You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?"

Henry stared at him in amazement, then drew in a shaky breath, "No," his depressing state was replaced momentarily by a mass sense of being awestruck and Scarlett was able to remove herself from the black hole pull that was Henry Knight's emotional outlet, "You're right. You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick."

"It's his job," Scarlett moved for the first time in minutes looking at Henry intensely, "now do as he says, shut up and smoke. At the very least it'll serve as an emotional dampener."

John frowned towards her as Henry took out a roll-up and lit it, John consulted the notes he's taken so far, "Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?"

Henry was concentrating on taking the first drag of his cigarette. As he exhaled his first lungful, Sherlock stood up and stepped closer to him, "I know. That... my..." Henry stopped as Sherlock leaned into the smoke drifting up from the cigarette and from Henry's mouth, breathing in deeply. Having sucked up most of the smoke, he sat back down again next to her, breathing out, whining quietly in pleasure.

John, trying hard to ignore him, said, "That must be a... quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this..."

Henry exhaled another lungful of smoke and Sherlock dived in to noisily hoover up the smoke again. John paused patiently until he sits down again, meanwhile Scarlett, fully out of her 'emotional coma' was trying hard not to grin at Sherlock's antics.

"...to account for it?" finished John as Henry dragged his eyes away from Sherlock.

"That's what Doctor Mortimer says."

"Who?"

"His therapist," Scarlett replied as Henry said almost the exact same thing simultaneously.

"My therapist."

"Obviously," she nodded.

"Louise Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

"And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?" she leant forward, fully engaged.

"It's a strange place, the Hollow," Henry focused in on her and she had to fight to ignore the emotional pull she felt coming from him once more. It seemed smoking had heightened Henry's emotions, not quelled them, and on top of that, Sherlock was getting his fix as well. She sighed at the stupidity of it all as Henry continued, "Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid."

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, "if we wanted poetry, we'd read John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier," John sighed hard in an attempt to release the tension that he might have otherwise used to kill Sherlock. "What did you see?"

"Footprints – on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart."

Feeling exasperated, Scarlett leant back in her seat interrupting John's further questioning and Henry's reply as she cried, "That's it? You put me through all of that intense emotional draining for that?!"

Henry looked shock as he said, "Yes, but they were..."

"No," she shook her head, standing up, "sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory."

"Quite boring!" Sherlock agreed, standing also, "Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Thank you for smoking."

"No, but what about the footprints?"

"Oh, they're probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing," Sherlock shrugged, "Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on us."

Scarlett smirked as she headed toward the kitchen whilst Sherlock straightened out his suit jacket. In a last ditch attempt Henry called out to her, "Miss. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

She stopped dead in her tracks, halfway between the kitchen and living room entrance when she turned to look at Henry. When she spoke her voice was quiet, intense, there was something about that sentence she adored, "Say that again."

"I found the footprints; they were..."

"No, no, no," she protested, walked toward him arms outstretched, as though pushing against some invisible barrier as she moved, "Your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

Henry stopped, thought for a second, then slowly recites his words back to her, "Miss. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic... hound."

A moment passed between her and Sherlock. They knew each other well, so well that she didn't need to explain what was compelling her towards this unique case. He just knew, she saw it in his face, his curiosity had peaked as well. Sure enough not a second later Sherlock declared that he'd take the case.

Startled at their sudden decision John spluttered, "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock adopted the prayer position in front of his mouth and begins to pace slowly across the living room, "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. It's very promising."

"No-no-no, sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they're very promising?" John asked.

"It's nothing to do with footprints," Scarlett spoke to John, "Baskerville. Ring any bells, doctor?"

"Vaguely. It's very hush-hush."

"My kind of party, science galore. Sounds like a good place to start, no?" she grinned.

"Ah!" Henry smiled at her, "You'll come down, then?" he looked at Sherlock for a reply.

"I can't," Sherlock said and Scarlett looked at him quizzically, "I can't leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don't worry – putting my best emotional train wreck onto it."

"Hey!" Scarlett protested, sour, as Sherlock walked toward her, putting his arm around her shoulder. When Henry didn't look convinced Sherlock continued, "Oh, don't worry, I'll send her down with her doctor," John did a double-take. "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself."

"What are you talking about, you're busy? You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining..."

Sherlock cut across him, "Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" He looked at Henry seriously and Scarlett had to bite the inside of her cheek, "NATO's in uproar."

"Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" Henry asked, trying to keep up.

Putting on a regretful expression, Sherlock shook his head sadly. John groaned. Scarlett tried her best to keep a straight face, knowing that Sherlock was only playing up to get his cigarettes.

"Okay," John relented, standing up, disregarding Sherlock's smugness rather well, "Okay." He walked over to the mantelpiece and picked up the skull, taking the only packet of cigarettes in the flat from underneath it. Putting the skull down again, he turned and tossed the packet across to Sherlock, who caught them and instantly tossed them over his shoulder.

"I don't need those any more. I'm going to Dartmoor," Sherlock left her side and walked from the living room. "You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later."

Henry scrambled to his feet, "Er, sorry, so you _are_ coming?"

Sherlock turned and walked back into the room, "Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

Later, with their bags packed Scarlett got into the back of the cab, watching Mrs Hudson yelling through the glass in Speedy's at Mr Chatterjee, "...cruise together. You had no intention of taking me on it..."

John joined her in the cab as the normally kindly woman through a sizable lump of dough, clearly intended to make a loaf of bread at the lying man. It missed and hit the lower glass of the shop door. John recoiled at the impact, "Oh! Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster."

"Mmm," Scarlett said, "wait 'til she finds out about the one in Islamabad."

John sniggered and held the door open for Sherlock who was just reaching the taxi. Once seated Sherlock spoke to the driver, "Paddington Station, please." He waited until they were away from Baker Street to speak to her, "Look at me."

"No. I know what you're going to say. And the answers no. don't worry about it."

"Scarlett…"

She sighed before deliberately moving to the fold down seat opposite Sherlock so she could keep eye contact with him. If he was going to do this then she wanted him to know she was just as serious. John looked on at the scene completely lost.

"This is going to be dangerous..."

"…When is it not?"

"For you, mentally..."

"How do you figure?" she raised an eyebrow, completely aware of what he meant.

"You found it difficult enough in the flat. You'll be coming across Mr. Knight more than once during this case and you _need _to get this under control."

"I can't just," she clicked her fingers, "flick a switch Sherlock. Yeah, okay, normally I have the whole emotional sponge thing under control, but Knight's just an emotional puddle of…trauma. And I wasn't expecting it, my defences were down. Trust me. By the time we reach the middle of nowhere, I'll be up to my eyes in emotional blockades. Time to lock down the Empath and pretend to be a full-frontal Sociopath, I suppose."

John studied her as Sherlock said, "You know enough to get by but–"

"If I start to crack believe me when I say I'd be nothing short of happy to abandon you and Doctor Watson in the middle of a marsh somewhere and hightail it back to London."

"Charming," John snorted.

"It's either that or we have a fully-fledged therapist standing by," Sherlock shrugged.

It wasn't until they were on the train and Sherlock had gone in search of coffee that John spoke to her about the conversation that had transpired in the cab. She pulled her attention away from a widow clearly talking to her unemployed son about her terrier, Whiskey as John cleared his throat.

"Can, can I ask what the whole thing in the cab was about or is it not…?"

"You just did, John," she smirked at him.

"Haha, very funny. Seriously, though what was that about?"

"John, do you remember the first time I explained what an Empath was to you?"

"Yeah. Yes, I do, we were on our way to Alex Woodbridge's apartment. You and Sherlock had had an argument about that women being blown up. You were angry because he said caring wasn't an advantage."

She smiled sadly, "I told you I found it hard to hate anyone because I could read, feel a person's emotion. If I can read a calm person's covered emotion, say for example Sherlock – you might not be able to read his face or body language but to a degree I can always tell how he's feeling – imagine how much more I feel when the person makes no attempt to control their emotion. Henry Knight is dangerous for me because in his unstable mental state towards the contents of this case he is in a constant state heightened emotion. I involuntarily latch on to these spikes in emotion and I feel all the things he does, add that to the fact that I'll be working on the case, gaining more information on his dad's brutal murder and that basically means if I'm not careful one tiny slip and I could be pulled into such turmoil that I forget what are his emotions, what are mine, leading to me having a mental breakdown. Which would require _much _therapy."

John sat there, slightly opened mouthed at all of the information, "And yet, despite that, Sherlock thinks it's a good idea to let you help work this case?"

"It's Sherlock," she said with a shrug, "when has he ever been a sensible guardian? Besides, don't worry, I know my limits." John nodded and leant back in his seat, ending the conversation as Sherlock approached with three coffees and a muffin.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

Dartmoor, the vast expanses of green really were worth the label beautiful. She had been surprised to find that the boys had hired a Land Rover to get them across the terrain. Sherlock was currently driving, that was until he pulled over on top of a hill, got out and surveyed the area, he pointed outward toward a cluster of buildings, "That's it, that's…"

"Baskerville…" she said in awe, removing herself from the car.

"That's Grimpen Village, then." John said, pointing to another cluster of buildings behind them. He turned and looked ahead of them again, checking the map for the name of the heavily wooded area to the left of the Baskerville complex, "So that must be...yeah, it's Dewer's Hollow."

Sherlock pointed to an area in between the complex and the Hollow, "So what's that?" John who had binoculars around his neck looked more closely at the fencing and the warning signs.

"Minefield?" he weighed up out the options, "Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out."

"Most definitely," she said.

Later, once they were done getting their baring's, they drove into Grimpen Village and pulled into the car park from the Cross Keys inn. They got out and walked towards the entrance of the pub, where a young man, a couple of years older than Scarlett, was apparently offering guided tours, "Three times a day," he called out, "tell your friends. Tell anyone!"

The three of them walked passed the group the man was advertising too, he was standing next to a large sign on which was painted a black image of a wolf-like creature with the words, 'BEWARE THE HOUND!' above it. To the tourists he called, "Don't be strangers, and remember...stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!"

Sherlock had been pulling his overcoat around him as he walked towards the pub, he now took the opportunity to pop the collar and John looked round at him pointedly. Trying and failing to look nonchalant Sherlock tried to defend himself, "I'm cold."

The three of them continued on into the pub, which had a blackboard outside advertising, 'Boutique Rooms & Vegetarian Cuisine'. Scarlett looked back over her shoulder in time to catch Fletcher run over to a couple of the nearby tourists and roar, they flinched, one of the woman even shrieked in surprise.

Sherlock had taken it upon himself to prowl around the pub, John was at the bar with her, checking in. The manager and barman, Gary, hands them three sets of keys, "Eh, sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys."

Scarlett grinned as John tried to explain in vain, "That's fine. We-we're not..." he gave up, paying for his and Scarlett's drinks.

"Oh, ta. I'll just get your change," Gary said, popping the till open.

Scarlett looked at bar top as Gary became distracted, noticing a spike on which receipts and invoices had been run through. She frowned as she saw that one was labelled, 'Undershaw Meat Supplies'. Quickly she reached out and ripped it from the spike, putting it into her pocket ignoring John's questioning look as Gary came back with the change.

"There you go."

"I couldn't help noticing," Scarlett leant forward, resting on the bar slightly, "on the map of the moor: a skull and crossbones?"

"Oh that, aye," Gary nodded.

"Pirates?!" she joked, "My uncle's a bit of an enthusiast."

"Eh, no, no. The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it."

"Oh, right," she nodded, of course she already knew this, she just wanted more information.

"It's not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty-odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore."

In the corner of her eye she could see Sherlock nearby, still prowling around he stopped suddenly, seemingly having found something of interest, but she didn't see what as she turned back to Gary, "Explosives?"

"Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and – if you're lucky – you just get blown up, so they say...in case you're planning on a nice wee stroll."

She smirked as Sherlock lost interest in the table and wandered off again, "Ta. We'll remember that, won't we, Scarlett?"

She exaggerated her smile, "Yep!"

"Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound!" he chuckled, "Did you see that show, that documentary?"

John nodded, "Quite recently, yeah."

"Aye. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell."

"Ever seen it – the hound?"

"Me? No," he pointed out the pubs door – past Sherlock examining another table – where the young man selling tours is standing just outside the pub and talking on his phone to someone. "Fletcher has. He runs the walks – the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He's seen it."

She heard John say that seeing the hound must have been handy for his trade as she walked right out of the door and deliberately right into Fletcher as he ended his call, spilling some of her drink on both of them.

"Hey, watch it ma–" Fletcher faltered when he saw she was a young woman.

"Oh, oh, oh no. I'm so sorry!" she played all flustered as she acted unsteady on her feet. Fletcher caught her shoulders to steady her.

"Hey, beautiful, no harm done now. I'm Fletcher, my mates all me Fletch."

She smiled, trying to stay sweet, "Oh, hi, Fletch, I'm Emilia, my friends call me Amy. Mind… mind if I join you?"

"Pretty thing like you? I'd be delighted."

"Ha, you're very nice," they walked away from the bar entrance and sat at one of the picnic benches. "So tell me Fletch, cos I'm staying around here for a bit and I heard you talking as I walked by. Have you actually seen this thing? The Hound?"

"You from the papers, sweet?" he asked as she took a sip of her drink, watching as both Sherlock and John strode towards them. Sherlock, to her surprise, had a pint in his hand.

"No, no, nothing like that," she smiled again, "it's just my uncle," she waved at Sherlock as he got closer, "and I have a bet on. He reckons you're having everyone on. And I said 'Na, genuine guy like you, handsome face eager to impress, you ain't gotta be lying.'" Sherlock and John nodded and sat down to join them, "So do a girl a favour, Fletch, prove my uncle here wrong, will you?"

"So," Fletch said, puffing out his chest, eyeing Sherlock, "you don't believe I seen it then? The Hound?"

"If you don't show me proof the bets off and I win fifty pound."

"Yeah," John said, catching on, "the guys in the pub said you could."

"Well, I guess Amy's gonna be walking away with your money mate," Fletcher grinned at her and she smiled back.

"Yeah?" Sherlock challenged.

"Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn't make much out."

"I see. No witnesses, I suppose."

"No, but..."

"Never are."

"Hush you," Scarlett scalded, "let him talk."

"Thank you Amy..." Fletcher took out his smart phone and showed them a photo after some quick scrolling, "There."

They all looked at the photograph which showed a dark-furred four-legged something in the distance but, with no scale amongst the surrounding vegetation, it's impossible to tell the size – or even the species – of the animal. Sherlock snorted. "Is that it? It's not exactly proof, is it? Sorry, _Amy._ I win." He picked up his drink – which she guessed he nicked from an empty table – and made to drink from it, although he never did.

"Wait, wait. That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a...bad sort of feeling." Fletcher tried to win it back.

"Ooh! Is it haunted?" sarcasm dripped from Sherlock's voice, "Is that supposed to convince me?" he put the pint glass down again.

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped."

Sherlock, not really trying to hold back his sceptical snigger, said, "A clone, a super-dog?"

"Maybe!" Fletcher got defensive, "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit."

"Is that all you got though, Fletch? I was really hoping I could prove him wrong. Just this once," she pouted, pulling out her best puppy dog eyes. Fletcher hesitated for a long moment, uncertain whether to continue, but eventually he spoke reluctantly, lowering his voice.

"I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up – well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said, 'that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.' He'd been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else." He leaned in closer to them, but edged closer to Scarlett. "In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he'd seen ... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs..." He reached into his bag and pulled out a concrete cast of a dog's paw print – but the print is at least six inches long from the tip of the claws to the back of the pad, "...dogs the size of horses."

Scarlett pounced without a moment's thought, "You were saying the winner got fifty?" As Fletcher smiled triumphantly, Sherlock got out his wallet and handed her a fifty pound note. "Nah, thanks!" Sulkily, Sherlock got up and walked away. John finished his drink and followed him, whilst hanging behind to break to the fifty in half, giving twenty-five pounds of it to Fletcher, "Thanks."

Later, they took the car to Baskerville, Sherlock still driving. As they approached the complex, she observed the many military personnel guarding the place, walking around the perimeter. Sherlock drove up to the gates and a military security guard holding a rifle raised a hand. As Sherlock stopped the jeep, the man walked around to the driver's window.

"Pass, please," Sherlock reached into his coat pocket and handed him a pass, "Thank you." He walked away with the pass. At the front of the vehicle, another security man encouraged a sniffer dog to check the jeep, presumably for explosives.

Scarlett watched open-mouthed, eyes wide as she hissed quietly, "How the hell did you manage to nab Mycroft's access all areas pass?!"

"I um..." he cleared his throat, "...acquired it ages ago, just in case."

"In what predicament did you picture yourself needing it?" John stressed.

The security guard swiped Sherlock's pass through a reader at the gate room. The screen showed a fairly small photograph of Mycroft and named the card holder as 'Mycroft Holmes', giving him Unlimited Access and showing his security status as 'Secure (No Threat)'.

"Brilliant!" John breathed.

"What's the matter?"

"We'll get caught."

"No we won't – well, not just yet."

"Caught in five minutes." John started go play it out, "'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.' 'Really? Great! Come in – kettle's just boiled.' That's if we don't get shot."

The gates began to slide open as the security guard came back over to the car as the security dog handler said, "Clear."

The security guard handed Sherlock the pass back, "Thank you very much, sir."

"Thank you," he put the car in gear and eases the vehicle forward.

"Straight through, sir."

"Mycroft's name literally opens doors!" John marvelled.

"I've told you – he practically is the British government. I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realise something's wrong," Sherlock told them.

"We're going to get caught, then Mycroft will kill us, then we're going to hell," Scarlett summarised as she caught the eye of a guard.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey Guys!<strong>

**I'm back, here's part one of four of possible my favourite episode! Please let me know what you think, it means a lot! (I only own Scarlett btw)**

**See you with an update soon,**

**HH**


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